


To go south

by FedonCiadale



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, Season 7 AU, Slow Burn, post-season 6
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-04
Updated: 2018-08-09
Packaged: 2018-08-29 01:22:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 30
Words: 71,711
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8470255
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FedonCiadale/pseuds/FedonCiadale
Summary: Jon has much too intense dreams and decides that he has to leave Winterfell





	1. To go south

**Author's Note:**

> This is inpired by the Season 7 leaks. There must be a good reason why the King in the North even contemplates to leave the North. So, I decided that Sansa would be a good reason.  
> English is not my mothertongue. So please be nice.  
> Also my first try at a fanfic.  
> I was so devestated by the Season 7 leaks, but I have not given up hope yet for Jonsa. I was so happy with Season 6. I had the feeling that for the first time (since I read Lord of the Rings as a teenager and decided that Faramir would be a good match for Eowyn) I was into a ship that might become canon. Well, hope dies last.

To go south

 

Jon woke with a start. It had happened again. He had another one of those dreams. He cursed inwardly and tried to collect himself. He never knew if it would be better to cling to the feeling of bliss and happiness that came with the dreams or if it would be better to stamp on this feeling and let the inevitable guilt rush in. Most of the times he yearned to linger in the dream where he felt no shame, where he was just awash in his love, but he also knew that to relish consciously in the pleasure would only increase the guilt afterwards. The guilt inevitably kicked in, when he had to get up and face his day. To him, his dreams were proof that he really was a bastard after all, with a bastard’s lust.

He had been in denial for a long time. When he first dreamed about a beautiful redheaded woman he told himself that it was a pleasant remembrance of Ygritte. In his innermost heart he had known that he lied to himself, that the shade of the woman’s hair was not right for Ygritte, that her height was not right, that her voice was not right, but he had not dared to look closer into who the woman was, if it was not Ygritte. Why he would dream of another woman like this, lying in his arms, kissing him back when he kissed her. So, he blamed his dream-befuddled brain and stomped on the strange feeling in his chest, whenever he glimpsed his sister’s shining hair.

But he could not lie to himself forever. One morning he woke from one of his dreams and finally admitted his inappropriate feelings to himself. He did not see his sister as he should. He was a bastard after all. He was jealous of other men when she gave them one of her rare smiles, he craved her attention, he could lose himself in longing just looking at her. Still he tried not to think about Sansa and his lust for her when he was awake. At night, he tossed and turned in his bed, fearing to sleep and to dream and at the same time needing the relief he found only in sleep, of his desire come true, if only in his all too vivid pictures of his dreams. He had tried to avoid his sister, to go hunting, to ride away for days under the pretext of looking after some of the keeps around Winterfell to prepare for the war against the army of the dead. Still, he did not stop dreaming.

Then Jon told himself that there was no harm as long as he did not act on his feelings. Some days he even managed to hold a tight rein on his unwelcome desire. He blamed his resurrection, the red woman, the giddiness of having their home restored to them and told himself every day, that this would end, that one day he would wake and he would look at Sansa and just see the sister he cherished and loved and not the beautiful woman she had become.

But yesterday, he realised that he had not yet reached the bottom of his misery. They had sat at the fire early in the night and after having finished all the conversation about politics, about Littlefinger’s unwelcome stay in the North about their preparations they somehow ended talking about Jon’s resurrection, a subject Jon usually avoided. He had told her then, had told her, how he had felt nothing, that he feared that there were no gods, that this life was all there was. She looked at him with deep affection in her eyes and took his hand into hers. “Jon,” she said. “You came back from the dead, if death would really be the end of all, and our souls vanish after death, how did you come back? You’ve been dead for a long time, when the red woman brought you back. Perhaps your soul was in a place where the gods could pull it back? Perhaps your soul was sent there so that you could live again? And that could mean that your soul was just not where souls are meant to be after death?” She stroked his hand and Jon felt oddly comforted and elated at the same time that he hardly knew what to say and just smiled and picked her hand and placed a short and dry kiss on Sansa’s knuckles. Sansa laughed. “I’m sorry. This might not be any consolation after all. All I’m saying is, that your soul did not die, since you came back, but since that doesn’t happen to the rest of us ordinary people not destined to lead us in the wars to come, that’s really no proof. I don’t think that you can deduce anything from just one example.” Jon had to laugh as well. Sansa smiled “You know, Jon, I do not pray any longer, but I think the very least I can say, is, that I am not sure about the gods. Sometimes when I sit in the godswood, and try to lay my spinning thoughts to rest, I think I hear the voice of the gods. It might be my imagination and it is only the wind in the leaves, especially, because sometimes my mind tricks me and it is Bran’s voice I hear whispering, but still…” She stopped. Suddenly, Jon felt, like she really understood him, that she took his doubts seriously, that she shared her thoughts with him. He thought it was strange that he would be comforted by the reality of her own doubts. He had never felt closer to anybody in his entire life and for a long time they just sat silently side by side and took comfort in the other’s presence.

Only when he got to his chamber it had hit him: It was not just lust he felt, nor desire for a beautiful woman, love had gotten hold of him and the sharp hook of something more than the needs of his body had sunk itself into his very heart. Then he knew, that he would not wake up one day and be rid of his unwelcome need, and his heart grew heavy with the prospect of having to live with a hopeless love for the rest of his live. Strangely enough accepting this had brought sleep.

Now Jon lay awake and tried to decide what to do. He did not want to send Sansa away. He could not force her to leave her home only because of his feelings. Briefly he wondered if all this was some cruel jape of the gods for doubting them. So, there was nothing to do, but for him to leave. If he would stay, he would and could not go on to ignore his feelings in the daylight and try to squeeze some happiness from his dreams. He now knew, that he would not stay silent, if he stayed in Winterfell. If he would stay he would speak of his love, perhaps not today, perhaps even not within the month, but someday in the near future, his control would crack, even though he had no idea how Sansa would react. She probably would be disgusted, or she might pity him. He dared not risk that. If he would leave he might find a solution of how to handle his feelings. Then he could come back, try to have the comfort of having Sansa close and yet never speak of it. Determined Jon rose. He would find some task that would take him away.

When they sat in council that morning it was almost as if the gods had answered his unspoken prayers. There was a letter from the dragon queen. She was looking for alliances and so were they. Dragons would be very good allies indeed, if the White Walkers would come. Yet, it took Jon almost the whole day to reason with his council, that it would be best, if he himself would broker the alliance with the last Targaryen. Nobody agreed with him, everybody reminded him that a Stark, especially king in the North, should not go South, that a Stark must always be in Winterfell. Jon was adamant, even more so, because he could not name the real reason why he had to go. In the end, the council bent to his will. Davos was the obvious choice for company. He knew Dragonstone. Sansa was clearly unhappy and insisted that Brienne would come with him as well. Jon gave his consent only after Sansa agreed to keep Ghost for protection in her sworn shield’s stead. Ghost probably would not be very happy on a ship and Brienne was very competent. Jon would only have to remind himself that talking was better left to Davos and not the outspoken lady knight.

They left two days after the decision. Sansa was still somewhat angry and frustrated. She had tried to talk Jon out of his plan, but still she came to the courtyard to bid him farewell. She moved into his arms, but refrained from chiding him again for a decision she obviously thought wrong. “Don’t you dare remain in the south. As soon as you have your alliance, come back and come back safe and sound!” The meaning of her words and her voice did not really fit together. She still sounded angry. Jon climbed his horse and gave the signal to start. First, he did not look back, but when they had left the outer battlements, he turned. There was a speck on the walls, shining red. He almost gave in to the temptation to just ride back, but he gave a short wave instead. The whole day he could feel the warmth of Sansa’s embrace and guiltily relished the feeling that even though she was angry with him, she would miss him.


	2. To bend the knee

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon has to decide if he will bend the knee to get an alliance with Daenerys.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had so much fun playing with the outline of the leaked season 7, that I decided to add other chapters. Still not sure, if it will be a whole story or just some glimpses on the leaked season through a Jon/Sansa lense.  
> If I write enough, I might convince myself, that this is, what will happen....

Jon was sitting in an elaborate guest room on Dragonstone and looked out. Davos and Brienne were in conversation with the dragon’s queen council at the moment. They had decided to postpone an official meeting between Queen Daenerys and the King in the North and to negotiate beforehand how that meeting was supposed to go. As Davos put it, there was the “small matter” of how they would greet each other and if any kneeling would be part of the official ceremony. Jon thought it was ridiculous. Westeros was about to be about to be invaded by a most dangerous threat to every living being and here he sat doing nothing, because Queen Daenerys would not talk to him before the matter of who should bend the knee was settled. He just had to put faith in Davos whose common sense usually made everybody see reason.  
It still meant that he had nothing to do. He could not train, because that would mean that he might meet Daenerys by accident and do the wrong thing. Sansa had been right after all. It had been no good idea to come personally. Jon sighed. He had known that even back in Winterfell, but the urge to leave Winterfell and the torture of being close to Sansa had been stronger. And there he made no progress at all, it was even worse. Having nothing to do, apart from reading, which would only distract him for a certain time, he found himself thinking about Sansa all the time. He caught himself thinking, that even though she had grown out of silly girlish dreams, as she would put it, she would love to see the sun glitter on the sea and listen to the rush of the waves at Dragonstone. She would have stood in awe as well at the first glimpse of the dragons just like Jon did. Jon had a letter on his desk. He had started to write about all his experiences here, his hopes of getting allies with dragons. At the very end of the letter he had poured out how much he missed Sansa. Rereading the letter, he decided it was hardly appropriate for him to tell her how much he missed her smiles, her loughs and the gentle touch of her hand. He had torn the letter apart in little shreds afterwards and put it into the oven. He would have to write it again. He could tell her, he missed her, he decided, but he should add how he missed her counsel and he should probably leave out everything that might be considered not to be to the point of his negotiations.   
Jon stood up and had a look at the bookshelves. He picked a book, had a look at the title and judged that ‘The motivations of great warriors in the history of Westeros” was probably good enough for now. He randomly opened the book, only to find himself in the middle of an essay about the impact of strong emotions on the outcome of duels. The maester gave Aemon the dragonknight as example and how his love for his sister Naerys had been his motivation to thoroughly beat the men who had accused her of adultery. It was good, that at exactly that moment, somebody knocked at his door. He would have been sorely tempted to throw the book into the fire as well.  
Jon called out and put the book on the shelf again and was relieved when it was Davos and Brienne who entered. The older man gave a short bow. “Your grace”. Jon bid them to take a seat and awaited Davos’ assessment of the negotiations. Brienne stood with an air of vigilance and Davos began: “To come to the point. Queen Daenerys will only meet you, if you will bend the knee. She insists that she is to have your allegiance, if you want her help.” Davos paused. “Thank you, Ser Davos,” Jon said. “For what?” “For not adding ‘I told you that would happen, when I counselled you not to come in person’”. Davos gave a short laugh. Jon raked his fingers through his hair. He would go mad, if he could not do something. Just sitting around would not help them with the threat in the north, nor would it help his personal problem. “I wish I could ask Sansa,” Jon sighed. “Is there any way we can give her what she wants and not anger our bannermen?” “The trick would be to be ambiguous,” Brienne mused. “Let people see what they want to see. That’s what Lady Sansa probably would say.” That was when Jon had an idea. “If we could somehow arrange for a chance meeting? Do you think, you can arrange for someone to steal from the queen? Nothing more than a hairclasp? And in the moment, she enters, I pick it up from the floor?” Davos’ face lit up. “That’s good. But who do we send to do the stealing.” Brienne cleared her throat: “You’re the smuggler.” Davos furrowed his brow: “My smuggling times are long gone, and I insist that smuggling is quite different from stealing. But I suppose I should be able to find someone for this task.” “Be quick about it,” Jon said. “We must get on with negotiations. I am worried how things in the North are and if everything is well at the wall. We haven’t heard from Winterfell since we told them we arrived safely”. “If you’re so concerned about the wall, you should have gone there,” Brienne said. She never missed an opportunity to show Jon that she was on Sansa’s side.  
Davos was as good as his word. Jon did not ask, how he came by the little silver clasp, formed like a dragon, but it served its purpose well. Jon very deliberately walked in the corridors. He had assigned one of his guards to alert him, if Queen Daenerys was approaching. The Queen was walking with two of her councillors, as the guard had told him, Tyrion and Varys. Jon hoped, that Tyrion Lannister remembered their mutual understanding as fondly as he did. Jon rounded the corner and he saw that Tyrion made an alarmed face. But Jon had already bent his knee in a fluid motion. He let the hairclasp fall on the floor with an audible clink. He picked it up immediately, sprang to his feet and held it for the Queen to see and gave a slight bow: “You must be the mother of dragons, Queen Daenerys. I am Jon Snow, I think you’ve just lost this. Such a shiny little trinket, but it pales next to your hair.” He even remembered to give the queen a smile. Daenerys took the clasp. “Thank you, Jon Snow”. She gave him a little smile, but quickly ruled her face to serenity. “I had not thought to see you so unexpectedly. Your councillors still have not agreed to all the terms for an official meeting. So, I think, we must postpone a talk.” Jon did not step to the side. Instead he tried to convey a puzzled look. “Your grace”, he said, “I was under the impression that I had just met your terms.” Daenerys gave a start and for a second Jon thought that he had gambled too high, when he saw a flicker of anger in her eyes, but the anger gave way to a wholehearted laugh. She looked sideways at Tyrion. “I should chide you, Lord Tyrion. You told me, that the King in the North was a straightforward man and not one for charming tricks.” Tyrion cleared his throat. “It appears he has learned some things since I met him.” Jon gave another bow. “Lord Tyrion, well met.” He turned to the Queen again. “If you want me to be straightforward, I’ll grant you your wish. I would talk with you about urgent matters, if you would let me, a threat not only to the North, but to all of Westeros and perhaps to all humanity. As Lord Tyrion might tell you, there were always tales about grumpkins and snarks in the North, but I can assure you that these are no tales, but real and frightening enough.” Daenerys frowned. “Before I consent to talk with you I want to know about your intentions regarding the North and its self-proclaimed independence.” “If you do as a Queen of the seven kingdoms should do and help us defend the North, we will always be thankful and loyal, your Grace.” Jon answered. Daenerys looked into his eyes. “I will let that stand for now and hear you out.”  
When Jon went to his chambers that night, he felt more optimistic than ever before. The queen had actually listened, and taken him seriously and they would confer again on the morrow to discuss how they could form an alliance in Westeros to bring all the seven kingdoms against the threat from north of the wall. Jon made another attempt of writing a letter to Sansa. In the end, he did tell her about the wonder of the Dragons and the glittering sea, but refrained from telling her he missed her. He told her about how he had managed to get a formal meeting with the queen without actually bending the knee. Today I made good use of all your lessons, Jon thought and he hoped that she would be proud of him. He went to the maester and told him to send the raven at once. He made sure that the man had no chance to look at the letter, before he sent it. When the raven flew, Jon looked towards the North, where his heart was and longed for Winterfell and Sansa.


	3. Trading and contracts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon talks with Tyrion about an annulment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I stil write from Jon's PoV, mainly because I have no idea how Sansa will take down Littlefinger. I am reasonably sure, that she will, though.  
> I try to get towards a reason why Jon would let himself get persuaded to even try to catch a wight, as the leaks claim.

Jon’s optimism did not last long. Queen Daenerys had seemed to be so sympathetic to the cause of the North, but before acting she wanted to wait for word from the Greyjoy siblings. If Davos had heard it right, a whole fleet was on its ways to king’s landing, preparing the way for Queen Daenerys. It didn’t really made sense to Jon. Why would the queen stay in Dragonstone with her dragons? Would it not be better to accompany the ships? To use the dragons?

Jon had the freedom of the castle now, that he had in a way met Daenerys terms. They were always very polite with each other and Jon tried his hand in courtly behaviour. It wasn’t too difficult really. He just pictured his sister and thought what he would say to her, if he could speak about his feelings. So far, it seemed to work and Daenerys was always friendly, although it was obvious that she wasn’t ready to talk strategy with him. When he voiced his doubts about her absence in the bid for king’s landing, she furrowed her brows and seemed to be displeased that he had learned of her plans with the Greyjoy fleet at all. Nevertheless, Jon thought that there was less tension in every meeting and they even came to a trade agreement about dragonglass. With Davos’ help they had drafted a contract that would allow the North to trade for the obsidian, that might be the key in defending the White Walkers. On behalf of the North Jon had promised to deliver shiploads of fur from various animals. With temperatures getting colder even in the south, warmer clothing would be necessary before winter was over. Jon himself thought that everybody was exaggerating about freezing. He had the feeling that he had never been this warm in his entire life, but he observed that the Dothraki and Missandei, the girl that knew so many languages, seemed to be shivering all the time. Davos was already organizing ships to send to White Harbor to the Manderlys filled with obsidian. Jon wasn’t entirely happy with the contract, since he thought that there might simply not be enough time for hunting, but Davos and Jon thought, that it was worthwhile to trade in promises as long as they got their hands on some of the dragonglass.

Seeing the ever shivering Dothraki Jon also gave and idea for a different contract which would benefit the North. But this time he decided to broach the subject with Tyrion. Jon knew that the sly way was not for him, but he thought that he might use his apparent reputation for blunt honesty to his advantage. He might even be able to solve several of the problems that were on his mind. He simply asked Tyrion if he could approach him on a delicate matter. Tyrion whose friendliness had been a great help might be more forthcoming with information than the queen who seemed to guard herself. So, Jon found himself sitting next to Tyrion in the hand’s chambers. “So, what is this delicate matter, you want to talk about?”, Tyrion asked. Jon was relieved that at least he would not have to dance about the subject that was foremost in his thoughts.

“Your marriage to my sister Sansa. Sansa told me, that it was in name only, and I would ask your consent about an annulment.” Tyrion took a sip of his wine. “Why would I give my consent?” Jon did not think that Tyrion was really trying to be obstructive, but he was prepared to play along. “There are several reasons. We might get along splendidly, but I would never admit that in front of my bannermen and they would expect me to try to get my sister out of a marriage that makes her a Lannister. Another reason is, that I am bastard born and the bannermen of the North chose me over her. I have my sister’s support, but she expects me to act in her interest and she would appreciate to choose for herself whom she marries the next time. It would be in your interest as well. Although I would support my sister’s children I could and would not support Lannister children, not, if I want to keep the crown. I like you, but I can’t have you having a claim on the North as Sansa’s husband or the father of her children. If you are free to marry again, you can get children to pass the Lannister name. I don’t think that your sister or your brother qualify for that as things stand now.” Tyrion gave a short laugh. “Jon Snow, I do think you learned quite a lot. You use your honesty quite well. Is there any other advantage for me? Maybe I would like to have a claim on the North? The queen is willing to reward her supporters, after all and you have been deftly avoiding the subject of hommage so far. Daenerys might be willing to give the North to somebody who will humbly act as warden of the North who will not try to secure the independence of the North.” Jon had expected Tyrion to come up with something like that. “Daenerys’ consent would not serve you at all, if you try to bend the North to your rule. You would have neither the support of the bannermen nor of my sister. Lady Sansa tells me, that in hindsight you were much preferable than Ramsey Bolton, but she did not wed you willingly and if you would try to coerce her into accepting your marriage as valid she would stand against you.” Jon deliberately paused and added: “The last husband who stood against her met a rather nasty end.” Tyrion was not taken aback. “Do you actually threaten me with your sister? She must have changed quite a lot from the courteous lady I was made to marry.”

“I don’t threaten you, I’m filling you in to some details you might not have been aware of. Although I doubt that I told you something new. You and Varys seem to know everything there is to know. I don’t really think, that you want the North. You might not be entirely sure about my claims that the White Walkers are real enough, but I doubt you would be stupid enough not to consider the possibility.” Tyrion pursed his lips. “Still, perhaps there might be other advantages?” Jon looked at the small man: “For you, or for the good of the realm?” Tyrion laid his hand on his heart. “Do you truly think that I would act for the good of the realm, how touching. What do you have in mind?” Jon smiled. Tyrion really was not someone to share his thoughts openly. “I would refrain from revenge against the Lannisters and the people who followed your father and brother, except for the Freys. That would be to your advantage and for the good of the realm.” Tyrion took another sip of his wine. “If I know you at all, you wouldn’t do that anyway, Jon Snow, not if you really are convinced of this threat for humanity.” Jon gave a shrug. “You have me there, but I still would have something else to offer, a trade contract, admittedly for times of summer, but still useful, I think.” Tyrion apparently took interest: “What would that be?” “A possibility for you to avoid spoiled food in the summer,” Jon answered. “Please, go on”, said Tyrion. “There is one thing we have in abundance in the North, even in summer. Ice and snow.  I would ship them to the south.” Tyrion laughed outright. “I like that. To make money out of something that is absolutely useless for you. Done, then. I will consent to the annulment. But, what of you King Snow? Don’t you want to marry and have children?”

Jon tried to school his features to a neutral expression. It was very important now, how his reasoning would come across. It really was a test to see if Tyrion would buy it. If Tyrion bought it, others would as well. “If I marry, I jeopardize the understanding with my sister. Her children will be my heirs. I’ll only marry, if she does not want to.” To Jon it looked as if Tyrion was astonished, but not as if he would not understand the reasoning behind it. “Well,” Tyrion mused. “I suppose your sister has learned in king’s landing how to look after her own interests. She will be queen in all but name and the trueborn grandchildren of Eddard Stark will one day rule in Winterfell. That is neat. But, I would not have thought her so coldhearted as to deny you your own happiness.” “It is my decision,” Jon said. And it was. In a way, it was neat: Sansa could stay at home, unmarried or married. The supporters of Eddard Stark’s trueborn daughter or would-be supporters trying to get influence would be appeased. Sansa would be at Jon’s side and stay in her beloved home. In the restless hours of his nights, Jon had come to the conclusion that it would be worth the torture of seeing her with another man, if it would mean, that he could see her every day. Still he would have to bury his feelings and never utter a word about them. Silently, Jon apologized to Sansa, that his decision might give the impression as if she would not stand behind him regardless of the circumstances. On the other hand, people usually believed everybody to act in their own interests, and it was well known that Catelyn Stark had not been well disposed towards the bastard of her husband. Let everybody think that Jon had made a political arrangement with his sister. Anything was better than even a hint of the truth that might damage not only Jon, but also Sansa, if somebody suspected.

After Jon and Tyrion drank to the annulment and the utility of ice in the summer, Jon even managed to broach the subject of the fleet of the Greyjoy siblings. Tyrion told him, that even though his sister Cersei had blown up the Great Sept, there were still vast amounts of wildfire in King’s Landing and that Daenerys had stayed in Dragonstone because nobody wanted to risk dragons in King’s Landing and the dragons would go where Daenerys went. Tyrion was worried that they hadn’t heard about the Greyjoys, even though he did not seem to be overly fond of Theon, a sentiment Jon could easily understand. He still did not know what he himself would say, if he ever saw Theon again. At that moment, Davos was admitted into Lord Tyrion’s chamber. A raven had arrived and Jon eagerly reached for the parchment. Sansa’s letter was short and he could tell, that she had made an effort to take care with her wording, in case the raven was intercepted, but it lifted Jon’s spirit considerably:

_Dear Jon,_

_I hope that all is well with you. I was glad to hear that your first encounter with Queen Daenerys went well considering the difficult negotiations beforehand. I am proud, that you found a neat solution and I hope this bodes well for an alliance. Lord Manderly has already agreed to distribute the dragonglass from White Harbor, so that we can prepare the strongholds in the North. We had word from Lord Commander Tollet. As for now everything seems to be quiet at the Wall, but from Tollet’s letter I got the impression that he expects nothing less than hell breaking lose within the next months. So, please rush with your negotiations, you are sorely needed here and Ghost and I miss you. Alas, I cannot say the same for every person here in Winterfell, but for now you have staunch supporters in Tormund and Lady Lyanna. But don’t fret, I’ll deal with every difficulty. Please remember your courtesies when you speak with the Queen. I hear she is young and beautiful and she might be sympathetic to a very handsome king known for his skills with a sword. I am glad to hear that Lord Tyrion is with you. Give him my regards and best wishes. Nevertheless, it would be good if you could negotiate for an annulment of my marriage to him. In case somebody gets the idea that for an alliance there would have to be a marriage, I would just counsel you not to act rashly, but to depend on your councillors. I myself certainly don’t have need for a marriage. I’d rather stay in Winterfell, but you know that._

_Sansa_

_P.S. Dragons sound like a real wonder from your description. I wish I could have been there to look at them with you._

Jon felt his cheeks burn. Sansa missed him, she was proud, she thought he was handsome and he had even managed to get her wish for an annulment, before he got the letter. He chided himself inwardly, that he looked at the letter as if it was a love letter, but at the same time, he knew that he would keep that letter and cherish it.


	4. Homecoming

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arya comes home

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I finally had an idea how Sansa and Arya will take on Littlefinger, although not in this chapter. This is just a Stark reunion.

By the time Winterfell came into sight, both Arya and the horse she rode were exhausted. The mare was visibly dragging her hoofs, but Arya did not want to stop. Night had almost fallen and she desperately wanted to reach her home and see for herself, that the rumours were true. That her brother Jon was king in the North and that he and Sansa had turned the tide of fate in favour of the Starks again. Even deep in snow, the landscape became familiar and when Arya was close enough to see that the banners indeed showed the direwolf of her house, she felt tears springing to her eyes. Resolutely she wiped her eyes and nudged her horse to go on. “You will get a treat, when we’re there. I am sure they will have something. Don’t give up on the last mile”.

When she came close to the keep, a group of riders approached her and she was surprised to see that most of them were wildlings. So, that rumour was true as well. King Jon had wildlings as bannermen. Their leader was a big man with fiery red hair. He called at her to stop and state her business. “I bring tidings from the Twins to the King in the North.” She was not entirely sure, if she could trust anyone with her true name. If she had heard it right, the wildlings somehow had been loyal to House Stark, while some of the oldest houses of the North like Karstark and Umber had declared for Bolton. But still she was wary. She would reveal herself to her family and to nobody else. “From the twins,” the redbearded man said and frowned with suspicion. “A skinny lass like you, all alone coming from the twins, from those Freys. What do the Freys want? No Frey is welcome in Winterfell.” Arya was offended: “I am no messenger for the Freys” she said indignant. She had not counted on getting into trouble to even be admitted to Jon and Sansa. “I bring urgent news that should be welcome, but for the King.” The man shook his head. “You have to try better than that.” Now Arya really got angry. “I have nothing to do with the Freys.” To her embarrasment she felt tears spring into her eyes again. To be within the sight of Winterfell and to be questioned by some uncouth wildling. For the first time in her life she felt that her sister Sansa and her mother had a point when they insisted on courtesy in all circumstances. “Tormund,” one of the other riders said. He had a shield with a bear. “The Freys would not send a skinny lass as an assassin. The girl is weary, we can let her in and let her have something to eat. She looks like she could use it.” “I am not sure, Torrhen, that man this southern cunt Queen Cersei sent, looked like he could not harm a fly. This girl might be more dangerous than she looks.” Arya was fuming, but managed to hold her tongue. Apparently being secretive, was not going to help her. Should she announce who she was? The man Torrhen threw up a hand. “But the direwolf sniffed that one out. We’ll take her with us and let the direwolf decide. Lady Sansa would not want us to turn away a starving child, Tormund, you know that.” The big man grumbled. “Nor would I, but we should work out something. The direwolf cannot spend all his days sniffing at strangers. There are so many people now coming the way to Winterfell, with all the trouble in the south. People should know better than to come North with winter upon us.” Torrhen scoffed. “I don’t think, that Ghost’s nose will wear off by too much sniffing,” he said.

So, it was decided, but still the riders took her weapons even needle, and rode with her in their midst. _That assassin Cersei sent must have made quite a ruckus_. _Well, this Tormund guy will be sorry, once Jon sees me. That was not how I imagined my homecoming._

When they rode into the castle, Arya looked around wildly. Her heart was beating fast and she desperately wanted to get a glimpse of her siblings. Her tiredness was forgotten. Even at this late hour the courtyard was busy. Arya saw many different banners, she saw men and even women spar in the courtyard, the clinking of the armour made for a steady noise in the background, but there were also carpenters who hammered and sawed. It looked so different from what she remembered, but also so achingly familiar, that Arya had to stifle a sob. Tormund dismounted immediately and made off. Torrhen came to her side, but she refused to get help dismounting, even though her knees buckled from exhaustion, when she came down. She glowered at Torrhen. “Will you bring me before the king, so that I can bring my news?” “No,” he answered. “You will see Lady Sansa though. The king is not here.” Arya got agitated. “What do you mean, he is not here, I have to see him.” To come so close to seeing Jon again and now he was not here. Her outburst seemed to spur the rider’s suspicions again. “Lass, Lady Sansa acts as regent in the king’s absence. Your news will be heard.”

Everything became a blur. Arya had been so excited to see her brother again and now there was only Sansa, Lady Sansa, probably all aloof, beautiful, doing everything a lady of a keep should do. All this bustle was probably due to the fact, that Sansa wanted Winterfell to be pretty. Sansa would probably wrinkle her nose at the state of Arya’s clothes. “Is anything amiss, girl?” Torrhen asked with a voice of genuine concern. Arya violently shook her head. It would be good to see Sansa again, she would put up with any chiding, if she could finally just see someone from her family. “Could you bring me to her? Please?” She was surprised how small her own voice sounded in her own ears. She hung her head.

Then she heard Tormund’s voice. “Here is the girl messenger that so desperately wanted to see the king”. Arya looked up and there was Sansa, indeed looking all regal, tall and so like a grand lady, and Ghost was by her side. Sansa’s eyes widened. “Arya”, she called loudly. She ran towards her sister and pulled her into an embrace and the knot that had been building in Arya’s throat suddenly came lose and this time the tears came for real and she found herself sobbing on her sister’s coat, while all the while Ghost ran in circles around them. Sansa smelled like their mother and it took Arya a long time to get calm. When they finally parted from their embrace, Arya saw that she had not been the only one to cry. Sansa’s cheeks were wet with tears, but she smiled widely and happily. “Torrhen,” she said, “please go to the kitchen and tell them to make their best for this evening. My sister is back and we will celebrate.” Torrhen also had a huge smile on his face. “I guess, the lass is no danger after all,” he said to Tormund. Sansa took Arya’s hand. “Jon and I so hoped that you would find your way home! We would have sent messages, but we did not want alert any of our enemies to the fact that you live. I am so glad you are here. Jon will be so excited, we have to write him first thing! Come, inside, you have to tell me everything.”

They did talk until long into the night, all tiredness forgotten. They talked all the way through dinner sitting at the high table. Sansa very firmly told Lord Baelish, that although they had agreed to discuss the business with House Karstark and Umber, she would not do so this evening and waved him away to sit somewhere else. Sansa laughed heartily when Arya showed her needle and since her sister was in such a good mood and she was so happy to have her again he even told her how her sword had gotten the name. “If you’re as good with that as I am with my needle, you can be a guard to Jon when he comes back. I am sure, he would like that.”, she said. “I am looking forward to introduce you to Brienne. I bet you can even teach our wildling spearwives a thing or two.” So, that had been the women in the courtyard. Arya inwardly shook her head. So far, Sansa hadn’t chided her once.

Later in the safety of the solar, Arya even told Sansa how she murdered Walder Frey and his sons, but only after Sansa had told her, how she had dealt with Ramsay Bolton. Sansa made a face at that tale, probably thinking it somewhat gross, but she did not say so: “The break of guest right was punished. You did so very well, Arya.” Arya only glossed over her experience in Braavos and did not mention her ability to change faces, since she did not think that this was her secret to share. Sansa told Arya how Jon and she had reclaimed Winterfell and that was and up and down of emotions. They both cried again when Sansa told Arya how Jon hadn’t managed to save Rickon and they both laughed when Sansa shared how Lady Lyanna Mormont had shamed the assembled bannermen into proclaiming Jon King in the North. Arya thought it was weird, that Sansa went on and on how valiant Jon had fought, how he had struggled for their cause, how devastated he was, that he could not save Rickon, and how he had left Ramsay to her to exact her revenge. Sansa’s cheeks were slightly reddened and the excitement of reliving the battle again obviously had her breathing a bit faster. _Campaigning together must have get them close indeed. She has not called him half-brother once. She seems to be so proud of him._ Arya was very troubled to hear about the threat of the White Walkers and the Dragon Queen. For all her “we did this” and “we did that” Sansa still seemed to be very unhappy that Jon had left for the south and she seemed vexed that she could not understand Jon’s reasoning at all. _Just as if she thinks, she knows him really well.  But I don’t understand either._

When they had talked, until their throats were raw, Sansa somewhat giddily showed Arya the letter, that Jon had written and that was even weirder. The letter did not sound like Jon at all. Jon trying his hand at courtly behaviour, going on at length about the beauty of dragons and of wonder of the waves of the sea at Dragonstone. One should think, that he would have better things to write on the small piece of paper a raven could carry. All this trying to be courteous with the Dragon queen must have rubbed off on his writing. Well, at least there was some important information in it as well. “I’ve already written another letter, you can squeeze in some lines at the end, before I send it away tomorrow.” Sansa stood and gave Arya a kiss on the cheek. “Time for bed, little sister.” Then she wrinkled her nose. “You should think about taking a bath, tomorrow.” _Thank be the gods,_ Arya thought, _Sansa has not become a different person after all._


	5. Umber and Karstark

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arya adjusts at home and Sansa plays the game.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The sisters are still very different. But they love each other

When Arya awoke the next morning after a long sleep, she contemplated briefly to skip the bath, just to annoy her sister. But when she saw, that someone had laid out new clothing for her and that there was a pair of breeches and a practical tunic she relented and went to the hot springs to clean herself. By the time she had finished, she grabbed some food in the kitchen and went in search for her sister. Sansa was in the great hall and sat at the high table. Arya recognized Tormund and Lord Baelish, and she thought that the grey-haired man might be Lord Royce from the vale, who had been a guest at Winterfell, when his son became a brother of the night watch. She had no idea who the little girl was, nor the mousy-looking blondish lord. The fat lord had to be Lord Manderly notorious for his appetite.

Before the high table there was a boy of about 10 years and a stooping old man who both seemed intimidated. The discussion at the high table was very agitated and Arya heard only snatches of the conversation, “Traitors,” “just a boy”, “the king would” and she had no idea what it was all about. It took Arya some time to get Sansa’s attention. Her sister gave her a short, but genuine smile and a wave, but made no move to stand or come over. Arya sat in the background and listened and watched.

Sansa gave a nod to a young armoured man who stood in attention at the high table and he pounded his shield on the floor. The lords fell silent and Sansa began speaking, not very loudly, but clearly.  “My lords and ladies,” she said. “I will hear you all out, but I would prefer you to voice your councils one after the other. Lord Royce, Lord Baelish, I would request you to refrain your opinions for now. This does not concern the war against the Night king, nor the manning of the wall. Thus this is no matter of our alliance. The Umbers are the concern of the king in the North and House Stark. Lord Manderly, please begin.” The fat Lord stood up: “The Umbers have actively betrayed the Starks. They handed Rickon Stark to Ramsay Bolton. I would say that their fief is forfeit.” Manderly sat again, and Sansa looked at the next in line, _the mouse._ “Lord Cerwyn” Sansa bade him. “I agree, but we should think about what to do with the boy. He could be sent to the Watch.” The little girl scoffed and stood up. “There is a difference in refusing the call to arms against the Boltons and actually turning in a trueborn Stark to be killed by that mad Ramsay, but still Lord Manderly and Lord Cerwyn are quick in judging betrayal. Harrion Umber is a boy, he had nothing to do with his father’s betrayal. And he came, when he was summoned by the king.” “But betrayal must be punished lest it serves others as an example.” That was the soft voice of Lord Baelish. Sansa frowned: “I must object, Lord Baelish. I had a first hand experience in being punished for alleged crimes of my family and this is not an experience I would wish on anybody, lest of all a boy.” She did not mention that she had not wanted his opinion in the first place, though. “Tormund,” she turned to the wildling. The big man grumbled. “The wall is not a good place for the boy. We all expect the attack of the White Walkers. That is no place for a child. As for his fief, I don’t understand it anyway. Why would he have a fief only because his father had it?” He shook his head.

Sansa stood and gave another nod to the young man at the side and he gave another pound with his shield. “Lords and Lady Lyanna. Thank you for your excellent counsel. I think, that the best way would be to heed all of you.” She raised her voice “Lord Harrion Umber, in the name of King Jon I judge you and your house to be guilty of treason against House Stark. The Last Hearth will be forfeit as long as you have not proved your loyalty. If you are faithful to our House, you may get your fief again which will be under the stewardship of a loyal man of our choosing. Your place will be in Winterfell as a ward to the crown henceforth until you come of age. Your maternal grandfather has a place at your side, if he so wishes.” The relief on the face of Harrion and his grandfather was palpable. Sansa turned to the young man again: “Podrick, please lead Lord Harrion and his grandfather out, notify Maester Wolkan as to his new obligation for our ward and bring Lady Karstark in.”

_Well, that went rather smoothly,_ Arya thought. _Sansa seems to be quite good in bossing these lords around._

When Podrick let the boy out of the Arya made her way towards the high table. She took a chair and positioned herself between Sansa and Lord Baelish. He was obviously not happy to relinquish his place by Sansa’s side, but Sansa made way for Arya and patted to her side. Arya just realized that Ghost was lying by Sansa’s other side. He stood up, sniffed at her and licked her hand. “You slept long,” she said. “I’m glad the new clothes fit. Did you take a bath and have you had anything to eat, yet?” “Yes, milady, I only came to report that I meticulously did my duty: washing, clothing and eating,” Arya grinned. Sansa gave a little embarrassed laugh. “I am sorry, you obviously have been able to take care of yourself for years, but it will take me some time to see the woman grown and not my little sister.” Arya shrugged. “It will take time for me as well.” In a way, it had been nice to hear Sansa ask all this questions. It was almost as if Arya could listen to her mother going on about how she needed to wash, eat or anything else. There had been a hint of reproach in her mother’s voice from time to time, but there had always been the care and love as well. “We’re in the middle of passing sentence on the traitors to House Stark”, Sansa explained. “So, I fathomed,” Arya said.

The girl that was led in front of the high table must have been Sansa’s age or even a little older. She had an enormous amount of freckles and red hair, a shade lighter than Sansa’s. Sansa stood. “Alys Karstark, you have been summoned to the court of the king in the North. Your father was sentenced to death by my brother Robb, king in the North, for a crime against imprisoned squires, your uncle defected to the Boltons and has been missing since the Battle of Winterfell. You are not responsible for your father’s and uncle’s crime, yet you have to state your intentions towards King Jon.” Alys Karstark bowed her head. “My uncle had no right to withhold Karhold from me. After the death of my brothers at the Whispering Wood I was my father’s heir and my uncle wanted to usurp my rights and tried his luck with the Boltons. He locked me into my rooms and I would probably have starved sooner or later, if my uncle had not lost all, when House Bolton fell.” Sansa sat again and motioned to her council on the high table. “Lady Mormont, will you offer your opinion?” The little girl stood. “Do you have witnesses for your claim, that you were imprisoned.”  Lady Karstark blushed, apparently in anger and said. “No, it was all chaos after the battle. My uncle’s men fled and I did not bring the cook who freed me.” Her voice sounded pressed. Lord Cerwyn was the next to speak. “If Harrion Umber was allowed to prove his loyalty, surely a girl must be allowed the same. But she is too old to be ward.” Lord Manderly gave his opinion. “The girl must be married to a man of known loyalty to House Stark.” Again, Lord Baelish’s softly voiced his thoughts. “But who is to be trusted with Karhold? House Manderly or Cerwyn or Glover for that matter, newly come to the Stark’s cause after battle?” Lord Royce apparently had forgotten as well, that Sansa had said, that the Vale had no business in the cases of the North. “Some of my landless knights might be glad to serve House Stark and become loyal bannermen.” “But the knights of the vale came late to the battle”, Lyanna Mormont chipped in. Sansa raised her hand. “In that case, the best thing would be to wed Lady Alys to one of the leaders of our Free Folk. Their loyalty to King Jon can hardly be questioned. Tormund, don’t you have a son in an eligible age?” “Yes,” Tormund said, “but…” Lady Alys got agitated. “You want me to marry a wildling, Lady Sansa?” “It would ensure your loyalty and give some of the people in the North an opportunity to get accustomed to the Free Folk. The Free Folk will fight with us against the real threat of the White Walkers.” Sansa answered. Arya nudged Sansa in the side, quite pronounced. _She can’t be serious about this._ At least she reacted: “Arya?”. Arya took a long breath, before she said anything. “I don’t see why Lady Alys cannot swear fealty and return to Karhold and stay unwedded.” “A man has to hold the keep.”, Lord Cerwyn objected. “That some man or other might be useful once it comes to war, does not mean that she has to wed him.” Arya said. “Let her have her own choice.” Alys shot a grateful look to Arya. Sansa frowned. “I can certainly see your point, but if she marries, her choice has to be approved by the crown. Her bridegroom has to be someone trustworthy. Lady Alys can swear fealty to the crown and hold Karhold under the condition that she will only marry with the crown’s permission. Do we agree on this?” Arya did not think that either Lord Manderly or Lord Cerwyn looked particularly happy about that decision. Probably, they had wanted Karhold for themselves. _How they must rue the day they did not raise their banners for House Stark. That will thwart their ambition for years to come._

Lady Alys swore her oath, looking rather happy about it and was even allowed to sit at the high table. Arya thumped Sansa. “Think about it, Sansa, girls all over the North only marrying when they want to.” “That would be too much a breech with traditions, but in this case, you might be right.” Arya scoffed. “I think, it would be right in any case.” Sansa seemed to disagree. “When I was a stupid girl, I would have married Joffrey instantly and today I shudder to contemplate the thought. Father would not have let me marry him. He said so.” She took a sip from the goblet before her. Arya lent closer to her sister. “Maybe Alys will make a good choice that would ensure her loyalty forever,” she whispered. “She seems like a sensible girl with a spine. Jon would probably like her.” Sansa sputtered. “What?” she asked, her eyes wide. Arya looked at her sister dumbfounded. _She sits in judgement and talks about loyalty and alliance and has not given a thought to a possible marriage of Jon?_ “Jon likes redheads,” she said. “Whatever makes you say that?” Sansa asked. “I heard Robb tease him about a redhead in that house in Wintertown I was not supposed to know anything about.” Arya answered, still in a low voice. “And Jon has to marry eventually.” Sansa gazed into her goblet, as if there was a fly in it. “Yes, he has, but I hope, that he is lucky enough to have a semblance of a choice as well,” Sansa said. “Preferably somebody nice I can get along with.” Her eyes were sad. Arya looked at her sideways. _What about a husband and babies for her, does she not want that any longer?_ she wondered. _I really would kill Ramsay Bolton again, if he somehow came back to life._

When all cases were done for the day, Sansa and Arya went into the solar and Sansa gave her the newest letter to Jon, so Arya could squeeze some lines in at the end. Arya quickly scanned Sansa’s letter. In a way, it was as weird as Jon’s letter had been. Sansa gave the important information and wrote short and to the point and yet she told Jon elaborately how Ghost had sputtered Podrick in mud when she had commanded the wolf not to come dirty into her solar. Sansa had told Jon about the case of Umber and Karstark and what she would decide. _Hadn’t she said yesterday, she had already written the letter?_ And yet all the details of the judgement in both cases were in the letter. “How did you know, how it would work out”, Arya asked. Sansa smiled “Oh, Lord Manderly and Cerwyn are quite predictable. They are not bad men, but they do have their own interest at heart. And I can always count on Lady Mormont to point out how important loyalty is. Even Littlefinger is predictable in a way. He is bound to say something antagonistic.” Arya was astounded. “But yesterday you couldn’t possibly know, that I would be there and what I would say!” Sansa shrugged. “If you hadn’t said anything, Tormund would have reminded me of the very different wedding customs of the Free Folk. He was about to, when you thumped me so hard, I got bruises.” She was not serious, as Arya could see by her twinkling. “I must say, you seem to have become quite good at manipulating people,” Arya admitted. She was not sure how she liked that. She took a quill and penned her own sentences:

_Dear Jon,_

_I am home and so sorry to have missed you. What the hell are you doing in the South? I would like to show you how good I am with needle. Sansa hasn’t put me into a dress yet, so, fortunately we didn’t fight for a whole day, we were happy to be together and we’re the very picture of sisterly affection. Come back home soon, we miss you. As of today, we decided that henceforth in the North every woman will only marry a man of her own choosing. Even the king has no say in it. If the dragon queen makes trouble, just stick her with the pointy end._

_Arya_


	6. The missing fleet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon meets Theon and Daenerys plans for conquest have a set-back

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sansa's and Arya's letter has not reached Dragonstone yet. Who knows about how long it takes with this raven mail anyway. Jon's and Sansa's letters are supposed to cross each other.

_“My lords and Lady Lyanna,” he heard Sansa’s voice. “We have heard your opinions on my marriage. I would like some time to discuss this with the king in private.” Jon saw the Lords stand up and file out the room, with a lot of ‘your graces’ and some bowing involved, apart from Tormund, of course. Tormund was thoughtful enough to close the door behind him. “Jon, I’d rather stay in Winterfell,” Sansa said. She made a step and came closer. Jon felt his heart beginning to race. She stood so close, that he could feel her breath on his skin. His gaze was drawn to her eyes and her lips and somehow all his efforts to look away led to nothing. “I’d rather stay in Winterfell, with you.” Sansa repeated. Jon felt his throat go dry. “Do you know, what you are saying?” he managed to croak. Sansa gave him a smile, the sort that he felt was reserved for him alone. “Of course,” she answered. “With you, always with you.” Jon made a noise halfway between a sob and a cry and embraced her. His lips sought hers and he kissed her fervently, her taste being even better than he had always imagined, and she kissed him back. “I’ll never let you go,” he murmured between kisses. “We’ll find a way. You could marry that idiot Cerwyn. He is such a mouse, he would not object to raise our children as his. He would not dare to say anything.” His lips sought out Sansa’s neck. “Stop talking,” Sansa chided him. She began to thread her fingers in his hair. Jon was just about to gently remove Sansa’s gown when they were interrupted by a heavy knock on the door…_

Jon had difficulty to remember were his was. He sat up in an unfamiliar bed. The ever constant sound of the waves on Dragonstone brought him back to where he was. Someone was hammering at the door. He drew a shuddering breath. _What a vivid dream. Apparently, my lecherous mind still tries to find a way to somehow be with Sansa. Marry her to Cerwyn and cuckold the poor man. I am really a wreck. Thank the gods I woke up._ Yet, he knew that he was not entirely honest to himself. He was unhappy, that he had been drawn out of his vivid dream and his mood was sour. When his breathing had somewhat eased, he called: “Come in.” It was Brienne. “Your grace, there are ships arriving at Dragonstone. It must be the missing fleet of the Ironborn.” John got up, all the while careful of giving Brienne only a view on his backside, because the aftermath of his dreams was still visible. “It is not yet dawn,” he said. Brienne nodded. “Apparently, they don’t want us to know about it, but they can hardly prevent us to look for ourselves.” Jon practically jumped in his breeches and boots, snatched a tunic and Longclaw and followed Brienne out of his chambers, buckling his sword-belt while running. If the fleet was finally here, there was a chance that he could wrap up the alliance and return to Winterfell. _And my torture._

When they arrived at the beach, there were indeed some ships, but nothing that could be called an entire fleet. There were about twenty ships and some of them were badly damaged, being rowed in, instead of sailing. The sails that were intact showed the kraken of House Greyjoy. The sun was rising and soon Jon could make out men disembarking on small landing boats. When he recognized Theon in the second boat he ran towards the boats. He was deeply satisfied that the Unsullied that were helping with the boats gave a startled cry when he rushed past them, but made no move to stop him. Jon ran into the water and made a beeline for the second boat. His father’s former ward had his back to the beach and when Jon reached him, Theon gave a frightened yelp, when Jon dragged him out of the boat and gave him a solid punch in the face. He almost felt like the day when he finally had had Ramsay Bolton lying beneath him. He felt like he was consumed by rage. “You,” he shouted. “Turncloak, traitor.” He punched Theon again. Theon cried: “Jon, stop please”. “You betrayed Robb, you destroyed Winterfell. You drove Bran and Rickon from their home.” He punched again. “You watched as that bastard Ramsay raped Sansa.” Theon tried to free himself from Jon’s iron grip, but that made Jon only fasten his hold on the bloody bastard. Theon drew frightened breaths, half sobbing, and Jon bent Theon’s head down and was about to strike again, when Theon croaked something that sounded like “Sansa.” Jon got a hold on himself, shook Theon once again and let go. “What about Sansa?” he asked. Theon remained half bent. “Does she live, is she with you?” He seemed genuinely concerned, although it was difficult to say with Theon’s eyes being so wide open, that the white of his eyes shone. “Sansa is in Winterfell, where she belongs. The wolves are back in the North, no thanks to you.” Jon said. “Ramsay?”, Theon asked. His voice was quivering. “Dead,” Jon informed him. “Sansa had her revenge. He was eaten by his own dogs.” Theon closed his eyes and Jon thought he saw tears on his lashes. He was shaking violently. With a slight pang of guilt he remembered what Sansa had told him about Theon’s ordeal in Ramsay’s clutches. Theon was damaged to his very core. He could see that now, when he studied him. “Ramsay won’t ever torture anyone again.” Jon told him. “I will forgo further punishment for your crimes, because you helped Sansa escape. But never act against House Stark again or you will learn to your rue that we have our revenge as well.”

“What is the meaning of this?”, Jon heard the voice of the Queen Daenerys. Apparently, Theon and he had made quite a scene. When he looked up, he could see, that everyone had been intent on their quarrel. “Your grace,” Jon called out. “Theon Greyjoy has betrayed our house. While I respect your alliance with him and his sister, I still had to make clear, how he stands with the King in the North.” Theon’s breathing still had not returned to normal. “If you are done with him, Jon Snow, I would like to speak with him”. _It is still, Jon Snow, not ‘your grace’._ Theon turned to Daenerys and bent his knee, disregarding that they were still knee-deep in seawater.  Jon walked towards the Queen and Theon followed him. When they stood on the sand, Theon again bent his knee. “Your grace,” he said and hung his head. “We failed you. My uncle Euron has allied himself with Queen Cersei. While we were stealthily making our way towards King’s Landing, he waylaid our fleet. He rained wildfire on us. Barely thirty ships have escaped and I don’t know where my sister Yara is.” He breathed unevenly, almost as if he had just stopped to cry or as if he tried to contain his tears. Jon felt another slight pang, this time out of pity and frustration. _No easy conquest of King’s landing. No easy alliance with the Queen of Westeros. Well, Davos probably would say that it was to be expected that this would be more difficult than a walk on the beach._ Daenerys saw the implications as well. She frowned. “This is grave news, indeed. But take heart, Theon,” she encouraged him. “The land forces from Highgarden and Dorne might stand better chances, when they march against the West. And do not despair of your sister, yet. She might find the way to Dragonstone.” Jon could admire her composure, but he realized that Daenerys’ concern had been foremost to her campaign. _Sansa probably would have voiced her concern about Yara first._

Jon was not invited to join in the war council. He had not really expected to be included, but all this dancing around petty politics of the Iron Throne grated his nerves. He told Brienne, that he was glad that she woke him. When Davos had joined them, he told them to look out for information. If there was news from the Tyrell allies they might not manage to get informed so easily. Davos promised to do his best. Jon invited Brienne to spar with him and they both were thoroughly worked out after they finished. Brienne towered over him and reminded Jon of his boyhood in Winterfell back when the castellan taught Robb and him how to fight when they were two heads shorter than Rodrick Cassel. But Jon had become quite fast and in a way his and Brienne’s sparring was even.

He felt better, when he sat down to pen a letter to Sansa. He told her about the annulment and his arrangement with Tyrion. He also told her that she could choose a husband if she would wish so and that he had decided that her children should come before any of his. _I told Lord Tyrion about this, and although I am sorry to say, that it made it look like you were supporting me foremost for your self-interest it should put any plans at rest to broker a marriage alliance with me. I’ve made it quite clear that I won’t marry, if you do, and that I want you to carry on the Stark lineage._ Then he recounted his meeting with Theon, how he had refrained from punishing Theon for her sake and how the set-back for Daenerys’ campaign was frustrating their own plans. When he had finished, Jon took Sansa’s letter again and looked at it. He had already read it so many times, yet he had to check again. _I would rather stay in Winterfell,_ it said, not _I would rather stay in Winterfell with you._

_My mind is playing me tricks._ Jon reread his own letter and was proud that he had not suggested Lord Cerwyn as a match. He almost sealed the letter when his eyes fell on the first words. He cursed. _Dearest Sansa,_ he had written. And when he scanned the letter he realized that he had written twice that he missed her. That was not good. _I will somehow get this under control. If I have to rewrite every single letter._ He reread his second attempt twice, before he decided that it was respectable after all and there was no hint of his torn feelings in it. _I do hope I’ll get another letter from Sansa soon. Surely, I would hear, if something went awry. So far, my sojourn in the South has not really helped. I still have so few control over my feelings and I worry so much._


	7. An unexpected guest

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa and Arya disagree about an an unexpected guest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope that the fight between Arya and Sansa is credible. I didn't want it to be a "catfight." I think it is more plausible for them to differ about politics. And it is always difficult to decide where to stop with revenge.

Arya found that Sansa was always busy. She talked with the cook, with the Maester, with Lord Manderly about the need to get food to Winterfell from the South, with some the carpenters who did the renovations and just this morning she and Arya had looked at a man who claimed that he could run the smithy. Arya was not convinced of the man, but they had invited him so stay. When they were out of earshot, Sansa had sighed: “I have absolutely no idea, if he will be a good smith. In the long run, we will need a steward to help us with these things. If I just had enough people I can trust. I need a castellan for the Umbers and a man who can have a look on Karhold and, and, and… I cannot possibly use the few Mormont men for every bloody task that comes up.” Arya grinned. “Did you just say ‘bloody’?” Sansa just gave her an exasperated look and threw her hands in the air. She did not acknowledge that she had cursed, though. “You can give all the swords he makes to Tormund and let him test them. If they survive training with Tormund, they will be fine.” Arya said. She spoke from experience. Tormund belonged to the faction ‘If I hit hard enough, I won’t have to hit again’.

They had sat down for a bite to eat, before the scheduled petitions in the afternoon and both girls had been delighted, when Maester Wolkan brought a letter from Jon. For once they were almost alone and took their time reading the letter. They sat side by side and both bent over the piece of parchment. “Our letter probably hadn’t arrived yet, when Jon wrote,” Arya said, disappointed that Jon’s letter was just to Sansa. And somehow the letter was as weird as the previous one had been. Jon told about his encounter with Theon and it almost sounded like he desperately wanted Sansa to approve of his restraint regarding Theon. Arya was vexed, that Jon had not executed Theon on the spot. “How could he just punch him, Theon is a traitor, he deserves death.” Sansa shook her head. “No, Theon was in the clutches of Ramsay Bolton for years. You cannot possibly imagine, what that means. When he saved me from Miranda and we managed to flee I almost felt like I had lost myself entirely. Theon was very brave that day and I will not demand further punishment for him.” Arya scowled. “He burned Winterfell, he killed those innocent boys. If he had not raided Winterfell, Rickon might be still alive.” “Yes,” Sansa said. “But it was Ramsay who killed Rickon. And he paid for it.” Arya was not entirely convinced. “If Theon is allied with Queen Daenerys, he will help us.”, Sansa added. Arya picked up the letter again. “I don’t want to fight about this. Jon was there and he had to decide what to do with Theon. Nothing to be done about that now.”

Arya read the letter again up to the part where Jon wrote, that he would not marry, so Sansa’s children could inherit Winterfell. She pointed the passage out to Sansa and scoffed. “I think that’s ridiculous. You told me you want Jon to marry someone nice and you will just stay in Winterfell and now Jon writes, he wants you to marry someone nice and he’ll just stay in Winterfell and name your children his heirs. When Jon will be back you both will probably politely decline marriage. I don’t really know why I should be the one speak in favour of marriage, but you realise that our family stands a better chance if you both marry,” she said. Sansa’s face turned a slight shade of pink, probably because she was put out. “Jon is not ridiculous. Jon is sensible. Let people see that we fully support each other. And I think Jon is being very considerate. It makes sense that he takes his time choosing a bride and if he has to take my claim as trueborn heir as an excuse, that is fine with me.” Arya rolled her eyes. “Yes, of course Jon is considerate. But I really don’t understand why he is so set on not marrying. If you don’t want another husband because you have enough of marriage for a lifetime, I won’t argue with you. But Jon must realise that sooner or later he has to marry and that letter just does not sound like he wants to, like he would be glad, if he can look after your children. I don’t really understand.” Sansa shook her head. “He just needs time.” Arya shrugged. “Well, as long as you both don’t decide that I am the Stark that has to marry.” Sansa laughed, her anger vanishing. “That would be fun. I could sew a bridal cloak for you, if you want.” Arya gave Sansa a playful kick in the side. “Don’t you dare. Finally, you are not exasperated with me for training with weapons and then you’re going to marry me off. I am not helping Jon or you to pull out of your obligation in this.”

They did not discuss the subject of marriage further. The afternoon was a string of petitions Sansa listened to Ghost by her side and Podrick doing the announcements again and Arya was pleased that Sansa often decided like she herself would have done. For once there were just servants bustling in the hall. None of the lords that had been there for the Umber and Karstark case bothered himself with the small affairs of the people of Wintertown or the surrounding strongholds. The last petitioner was a young man or maybe still a lad with a tiny boy with a mop of light brown curls by his side. Arya was taken aback when he dropped to his knees and deeply bowed his head. When Sansa told him to rise and state his business he stayed on his knees. “I did not take the bread that was offered, nor did I drink water or wine.” _What a peculiar thing to say._ Sansa was puzzled as well. “Why do you say that?” Still, the man did not rise. “So, that you know, that I cannot claim guest right.” Arya felt a vague dread and shuddered. Sansa put her hand on Ghost’s head assuring herself. The wolf got to his feet, red eyes alert, sensing Sansa’s uneasiness.

The man put forward the tiny boy. “This is Hoster Tully,” he said. “Your cousin. Winterfell might be the only place in Westeros where he is safe. That is why I brought him here, even though I know I won’t be welcome here.” Sansa stood up abruptly, face white. Podrick laid a hand on his sword pummel, when Sansa spoke: “You are a Frey.” The man was still on his knees. “I am Olyvar Frey. Roslin Tully is my sister. I was squire to your brother, the Young Wolf at the Whispering Wood. My life is in your hands, I just beg of you to look after Hoster. He is an innocent child.” He hung his head. “Why did you come here?” Sansa asked, her voice strained. “My father and his direct heirs were murdered. The rest of my family squabbles over the inheritance. Your uncle Edmure and my sister begged me to bring Hoster to safety and I decided that Lady Sansa, daughter of Catelyn Tully would be the best option. Edmure and my sister might be dead by now. My family members have taken to murder one another. ” He took a heavy breath as if to regain his composure. “I admired your brother, Lady Sansa, I did not know about the Red Wedding. My father had sent me on an errand. But I did suspect that he planned something and I might have warned your brother that something was amiss. To my regret, I did not and as I said, my life is in your hands.” Arya could not stand it any longer. She jumped, drew Needle and made over to this Olyvar. She seized the kneeling man and put the blade to his throat. “And your life we shall have, Frey. I’ll cut your throat to the bone and you’ll die like your father died.” She looked at her sister and waited for Sansa to nod. But her sister did not. She still stood, but somehow the colour was back in her cheeks and she had regained a regal composure. “Arya,” she ordered with a clear voice. “Put down your sword. We will not slaughter his uncle before the eyes of our cousin.” It was only now, that Arya realised the bewildered and frightened look of the little boy. She let her sword sink, but she felt that her thirst for revenge was boiling inside her and barely contained herself. Sansa strode to her, her eyes intent on Arya’s face as if she was afraid to startle her. She called Podrick to secure Olyvar and put a hand on Arya’s left. “Arya, please,” she said. “Sheathe your sword.” Arya obeyed as if in a daze. Little Hoster had begun to softly. Podrick positioned himself behind Olyvar Frey and watched him warily. Sansa sat on her heels until she was eye to eye with the little boy. She smiled and even though Arya could see that the smile was not genuine and somewhat forced for the boy’s sake, Hoster seemed to calm. Sansa stretched out her hand. “Hello Hoster,” she said. “I am Sansa, your cousin. I can see you’re a Tully. You have the same curls my brother Rickon had. And this ferocious lady is your cousin as well. Do not be afraid. I will not harm your uncle and you are safe here in Winterfell.” Hoster looked at her with eyes that were full of panic and shining with tears. Sansa took his hands in her left and stroked his cheeks with the other hand to dry his tears. Now her smile reached her eyes. “Have you had something to eat at least, brave boy”, she asked. Hoster shook his head. “Only in the morning, before we came here”. he answered with a small voice. “Then come with me and have something to eat.” She motioned to a servant and ordered him to fetch Maester Wolkan. She took Hoster by the hand and led him to the table.

Arya could understand that Sansa wanted to look after the child, but she itched to strike the Frey’s head off. I would not do to do that in front of the child, she could see that, so she sat in a corner in the great hall and tried to push away the images that came to her mind. Grey Wind shot by arrows, the burning direwolf banners, the burning need to reach her mother … She had thought she had left that behind when she took her revenge on Walder Frey, but the images in her mind still had her quivering. Podrick had a wary eye on the Frey, but Sansa bade him to drink some water. He took large gulps all the while standing in deference.

When the Maester arrived, Sansa introduced him and Maester Wolkan prepared to take Hoster with him. Hoster walked to his uncle: “Can I go with the Maester, Uncle Olyvar?” The Frey nodded and gave a smile: “Yes, Hoster, everything will be good. You are safe now, Maester Wolkan is just like Maester Ryman at home. Bid good night to your cousin, Lady Sansa. She will have your best interest at heart.” Little Hoster walked to Sansa and said “Good night, My Lady” with an earnest face and a light bow that would have been funny in other circumstances and strode beside the Maester and finally left the great hall. Arya fully expected Sansa to command her to execute the Frey on the spot. Arya looked at her hands and realised that she might not be able to do it. She shook so hard that she would not be able to strike. “I am very grateful, that you took Hoster in, my lady,” she heard the Frey speak. “May I ask your intention with me?” Arya jumped up, although her legs were shaking badly. She drew Needle. Sansa looked at her aghast. “Arya!” she exclaimed. “I gave our cousin my word, that we would not harm his uncle.” “He is a Frey,” Arya shouted. “I gave my word,” Sansa said. “You didn’t say anything about me,” Arya spit out. She was satisfied that Podrick shuffled his feat, unsure what to do and that the Frey looked sick. “Do not mince words with me,” Sansa replied. “I gave my word and you shall honour that as well.”

“You cannot mean to let him live! I should have a say in that as well. What do you want to do with him? Marrying would be a good idea, I think, if you want to be so cosy with a Frey.” Arya was beside herself with anger. Sansa shook and balled her hands into fists, but she answered calm and collected, just as she had as a child, when they fought and Sansa made a point of being in control of her temper. “Olyvar Frey will be fed and clothed and send to the wall. His family betrayed ours, but he is no different than Harrion Umber. But since he is a man grown, he will join the Nightwatch.”  “What the Freys did is beyond retribution, you said so yourself,” Arya shouted. By now, nobody in the hall even pretended to be otherwise preoccupied. Podrick nervously stroked the pommel of his sword with his left hand, his eyes darting between Sansa and her. Sansa still would not shout. “But Olyvar was not at the Red Wedding.” Arya laughed. “You believe him? You must be mad to believe a Frey.”

Sansa was getting all haughty now. “What you must understand, Arya, is that killing people who seek out your mercy will only result in nobody looking for mercy. This is what the Lannisters do. It means that every enemy will fight you to his last drop of blood. And it only means making more enemies. We cannot afford that. Not with the long night ahead and every man needed at the wall.” That did nothing to calm Arya. She screamed. “I was there, Sansa, I was there. I saw what they did to the Northmen. The Freys knew no mercy and no honour. If the Hound hadn’t knocked me out, I would have died there as well. I don’t care about you giving your word, he should die.” Finally, she had managed to pierce Sansa’s calm. She began to shout as well. “If we kill Hoster’s uncle who brought him to safety, we’ll destroy that boy’s life. We cannot do that, Arya,” Arya was in a turmoil. A tiny part of her agreed with Sansa, but the larger part just wanted to run the Frey through with Needle. In the end, it was Podrick who decided to act on the tension. He drew his sword and put himself between Arya and the Frey who was ghastly pale. “It is you who act like a Lannister”, Arya shouted at her sister. “What do you want Hoster for? To get a grip on the Riverlands, to claim them like you claim allegiance of the vale through our cousin Robin. Is that the reason? Do you want to have wards from every corner of Westeros who will do your bidding?” Arya could stand it no longer. She turned on her heels and left the great hall running. She heard Sansa call after her, but she did not stop until she came to the broken tower. She entered the ruin and sobbed and cried until her head hurt and she was stone cold. It was Ghost who came to her. He licked her face and took her sleeves gently in his teeth, until he persuaded her to stand up and walk to her chambers. When she had entered her chambers, he licked her again, but left her and walked into the corridor again. Arya threw herself on her bed, fully clothed, exhausted and too tired to even acknowledge the plate with bread and cheese on her bedside.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please ignore my mistakes. English is not my mothertongue. If you like it, please comment and give me tips. I am quite new in the field of fanfiction. Next chapter will be Jon again.


	8. Questions of honour

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A deafeat of the Tyrells leads to new plans.

_Exactly as King Jon suspected._ Brienne thought. When she and the king danced around each other on the sparring ground, Davos came to inform the king, that there had been news from Highgarden. _Nobody came to inform us._ “They all gathered in Lord Tyrion’s chamber and I reckon there is a war council now.”, Davos informed them. “Good news or bad?” King Jon asked. “I believe the news must be bad, their faces were pretty grim.” The king looked quite grim himself. _Not that that is unusual. But today he hardly smiled at all._ King Jon sheathed his sword and signalled to Brienne to do the same. “Then we shall look in to our very good friend Lord Tyrion for a friendly chat.”

“Come with me,” the king said to her and Davos. “Lady Brienne, I would appreciate if you could ensure that we are admitted to Lord Tyrion’s chamber.” “As you command, your grace, but why me? You are an excellent swordsman yourself. I doubt that any of Lord Tyrion’s soldiers would be a match for you.” The king stopped and looked at her. “I’d rather not provoke an incident. And even if they have a queen they will not expect a woman to attack them outright.” He shook his head. “If any of them would really look at you, they would take you seriously, but they never do. The other day, one of the Dothraki asked me, if you were my lover and if by sparring with you I meant to entice you.” He sighed. “They don’t know much about swordfights, but still… it amazes me.” Brienne felt her cheeks redden, partly from embarrassment that somebody would think her King Jon’s lover and partly from delight that the King took her serious as a fighter. She knew that she had become a somewhat decent fighter, but it was nice to be acknowledged as such. She was happy, that the King did not think their sparring sessions to be a nuisance.

When they reached Lord Tyrion’s chamber it was just as the King had predicted. Ser Davos, always the talker tried to negotiate them to give way, while the King made a point of stroking his sword pummel, sheathing and unsheathing his sword for a few inches. Both the guards were so intent on trying to politely deny entrance to Ser Davos and eyeing Longclaw warily that she had no problem at all to knock the first out. Before the second guard had a chance to react, Ser Davos had finished talking and Brienne punched him, while Ser Davos deftly caught the spears of the guards. Thus, there were just two thuds, one after the other as the two Unsullied went to the ground. “Thank the gods, they have leather armours,” the King remarked. Together they put the two Dothraki around the next corner and King Jon opened the door, a jovial smile on his face. Brienne by now knew him well enough to recognize it as entirely fake.

“Lord Tyrion, would you like to share a tankard of Arbor Gold with me,” the King asked, as he entered. Brienne could see a circle of very serious faces, that turned towards them. Varys, Tyrion, Missandei and Grey Worm, and Theon were there as well as the Queen. Daenerys certainly looked very much like someone whose nameday party had been cancelled. _The news from Highgarden must be dire._ “King Snow,” the Dragon Queen said and stood up. “I am sure, my guards told you that we are in a council meeting.” The King looked puzzled. “Guards?”, he asked. “Nobody hindered us,” he said, the false jovial smile still on his face. _Unconscious men can hardly be a hindrance, not exactly a lie._ “I just wanted to have a chat with Lord Tyrion about old times, but if something serious came up, I am happy to be at your service with my counsel. If we are to have an alliance, I can be trusted with some things, surely, your Grace.” He bowed ever so slightly, smile plastered in place. _She has no idea how to treat politeness. I wonder if she ever came across anything else but deference, or perhaps rudeness and fear. She just does not know how to handle this polite firmness._ Daenerys was still pondering the King’s veiled request to be allowed to join, when Theon took the decision out of her hands. He stood up and offered his chair to the King. King Jon exchanged an unreadable look with Theon and took the seat. Daenerys shot Theon an angry look, but whatever she wanted to say, went unspoken, when Tyrion placed his hand on hers. Meanwhile Greyworm had stood up as well and went to the door, an angry look on his face.

“I would appreciate, if you would invite my councillors as well, your Grace” the King said. Theon did not wait for the Queen’s approval and fetched more chairs. Brienne decided to stand behind King Jon, her senses alert, while Ser Davos took a seat. Greyworm came back, his face in a scowl. He said something in Valyrian. Queen Daenerys was exasperated. “What have you done to my guards?” King Jon made a point of looking offended. “Me? I did nothing. No man has touched your guards.” Of course, it was Lord Tyrion who grasped it first and he gave a short laugh. Just like lightning the Queen’s mood changed, she chuckled and looked pointedly at Brienne. Brienne just shrugged and tried to look inoffensive.

Daenerys sat again. “Tell the guards to pay better attention, next time,” she ordered Greyworm. “We have indeed need for ideas,” she admitted. “The army of Highgarden was ambushed by the Kingslayer near Silverhill on their way to the Goldroad and defeated thoroughly. Our ally Olenna of House Tyrell was captured. She is probably on her way to Kingslanding now. With Olenna in Cersei’s hands the cause of the Tyrells is lost.” _Two defeats. That is not good. Daenerys should have taken her dragons to fight with her allies._ Brienne knew why her treacherous heart beat hard in her chest. _But Jaime is alive._ King Jon was obviously discomfited. In a way, this new defeat would better his position for bargaining, but Brienne knew that the King was determined to rally support for a war in the North and his patience was wearing thin. “Who would have thought that my dear brother has a knack for leading battles. I never knew.” Tyrion mused. “Or, Lord Randyll Tarly underestimated the Lannister army and blundered.”, King Jon said. Varys nodded. “That might be the case. According to our news, Ser Jaime feigned a retreat and Tarly was so intent on victory that he fell right into the trap. He retreated right away and is on the run right now.” Queen Daenerys was angry. “I would have expected better from someone who was recommended by Lady Olenna,” she said. “And we got a message from Cersei to surrender Lord Tyrion to her justice or suffer another defeat. She promised to show no mercy.”

“It seems, that our conquest has had a severe setback. Maybe it is time to change tactics.” Tyrion said. “I invite you to come to the North as my allies and set your dragons to good use against the real threat. If you show the seven kingdoms that you fight for their lives and their safety, they will turn to you. If Cersei continues to slay her enemies right and left, either there will be nobody left to kneel to her or everybody will abandon her. A rule based on violence is bound to fail,” King Jon told the dragon queen. Tyrion scoffed. “Stannis went to the North and while he saved the wall, he was still defeated and he did not win anybody’s love.” King Jon smiled. “Stannis was not a very likeable person.” He gave a short nod to the Queen. “I am sure that you could rally support in the North. And House Stark would be at your side, if you take on the army of the dead.” Daenerys frowned. “At my side, not following me.” _Will she go on about kneeling again?_ King Jon’s face gave away nothing. Again, he gave a barely discernible bow. “I am sure, that everyone in the North would gladly do your bidding.” _He is so sullen all the time, it is easy to miss that he is quite adept at finding the right words._

But nobody in the Queen’s council was ready to give up on the south, yet. Daenerys was adamant that sending the dragons to King’s landing was not an option and she only agreed, after several options had been discussed, that it would be a good idea to bring the Dragons towards the Lannister lands in the west and make a statement about who had the advantage. Tyrion had a lot to do with Daenerys’ reluctance to condemn the people in King’s landing to death by dragon- and wildfire, but Brienne thought it odd, that Daenerys was so protective of her “children.” If she understood it right, the black dragon had been injured in a crisis in Mereen, and that might explain the qualms of his “mother”. King Jon got frustrated when the discussions dragged on, Brienne could see that.  He and Ser Davos had tried several times to bring up the idea of Daenerys going north, but at some point both had simply given up. Ser Davos was thoughtful as ever. The man might be considered to have no right to advice a king, but after getting to know him, Brienne had to admit, that he gave different angles to the problem, when King Jon’s and his proposal did not convince the Queen’s council. He was the one to even suggest that they should send a small clandestine party to King’s landing to steal or destroy the wildfire. Theon of all people volunteered for that, because he wanted to look for his sister and after that Davos agreed as well. Brienne was not sure, if Davos and Theon would be ideal partners, but at least Greyjoy and Baratheon had not fought against each other in these wars, yet. King Jon was not thrilled by the idea, but he agreed to ship ice from the north. Apparently, wildfire had to be cooled, so that it would not ignite by itself and King Jon was quick to see that wildfire might be a good weapon against the dead. His determination in the cause of the North could hardly be in question, when he agreed to send his own councillor away, even if Ser Davos insisted that he knew the underside of King’s landing quite well.

When all of this was settled, Varys had to muddy the water again by suggesting that they even might try to negotiate with Cersei. That induced quite a commotion with Tyrion protesting that he had come to take his sister down and King Jon pointing out, that Cersei was responsible for his father’s death and Sansa’s subsequent ill treatment in the capital. The noise went down when Varys clarified, that he had meant fake negotiations. “Let Cersei think she has the upper hand and lure her into a trap. I could back that,” Tyrion said.

 “What about your brother?,” Brienne heard herself say. King Jon turned and gave her a strange look that made her feel as if he knew her heart. She hoped that her face gave nothing away. “Why would my father’s killer be better?” Daenerys asked. Brienne felt awkward to be challenged like that. _I should have been more careful. Of course, she mistrusts him._ “Ser Jaime might be persuaded to consider the possibility of the threat in the North and might be willing to talk about dealing with this threat in an alliance. As unlikely as that may sound to you, in my dealings with Ser Jaime I’ve found him to be true to his word. Ser Jaime tried to keep his word to Lady Catelyn and gave me a sword to protect her daughters. He might be more susceptible to an appeal to his common sense than his sister. I think, we could convince him to fight for the living.”

To Brienne’s dismay, King Jon did not back her. “I don’t know, Lady Brienne. Even if he gave you a sword, he did nothing himself for either of my sisters.” When Brienne started to answer, he raised his hand and stopped her. “I don’t want to question at all, that you were true and indeed saved Sansa. But the rumours concerning Ser Jaime and Cersei are running wild. As far as we know Ser Jaime now lives openly with his sister in King’s landing. Everybody knows that Cersei’s children were his. They put the children of their sins on the Iron Throne. He backed her in everything, even though she blew up half of King’s landing to kill her enemies. They are both too far gone beyond honour. If he would turn away from her now after everything they both did, he would have to despair of every decision he has ever made. I don’t see how he could renounce her and stay sane. If she does not negotiate, he won’t either. He cannot leave his sister now.” Brienne wondered if she had ever heard King Jon talk at such length. It even sounded as if he had a little bit of sympathy for Jaime’s predicament.

“Thank you for your insight into the dangers of losing one’s honour,” Tyrion quipped. “That is a very Stark point of view, but there is a grain of truth in what you said.” King Jon was flustered by Tyrion’s words, but did not raise to the bait. “But Lady Brienne has a point as well. Cersei will not negotiate unless you offer her my head – and even then, she would try to murder you, when you would be fool enough to meet with her. But my brother’s quirks at honour are not predictable. I cannot really say. When he freed me from my prison he acted against Cersei, but he might have regrets on that now.” He sighed. “I suggest, we try to infiltrate King’s landing and steal the wildfire, the Queen and her dragons lay waste to some of the Lannister strongholds and we try to bypass Cersei and talk with Jaime, but I wouldn’t count on success.” Varys interrupted. “If he would get a message by someone he trusted, he might be ready to meet.” Tyrion scoffed. “That would not be me.” King Jon turned to Brienne. “Do you indeed trust Ser Jaime to such an extent? Would he come, if you told him that there is something he has to know about a threat for all of Westeros?” Brienne was embarrassed by the looks of everyone in the chamber, but she nodded. _I am sure of that. He cared about Tyrion and freed him. He sent me after Sansa. He saved me from the Bear. He is capable of not acting in Cersei’s interest._

“I think, we should provide some kind of proof for the threat in the North, if we want to have a chance” Daenerys insisted. She looked pointedly at King Jon. “There might be a possibility to bring that, but it is at least as risky as the wildfire and it would take time. I would have to travel to the wall”, he answered her unspoken question. The dragon queen obviously wanted him to elaborate, but King Jon met her stares with silence.  After several uncomfortable moments, Daenerys gave in: “King Snow, if you would bring that proof, I will bring the dragons to the defence of the North, I promise.” King Jon smiled and gave another of his almost-bows. “It is not only me, who risks something for your plans, your grace. I think, you can do better than promising something that would be deemed necessary anyway, once you see for yourself, that I do not tell tales to frighten little children. And I do have the feeling, that none of you believes me anyway. You are not sure, I lie either, but if you would believe me, you would set a different course.” “What do you want?” Daenerys asked. “I want a lot of things, your grace, most of them are not in your power to give me. For now, I would settle for your pledge to our cause, your promise not to work against House Stark and in the long run the independence of the North”, King Jon answered, “if there will be a North after all this is over,” he added thoughtfully. Daenerys was not pleased, but she gave her word.

When they sat in King Jon’s chamber later, he seemed brooding, and Brienne asked the king, if he was content with the outcome of the day’s bargaining. The King gave a harsh laugh. “My father once told me, that no alliance was ever successful unless both sides had to give up something that really hurt.” He sighed. “I earned a promise today, a promise the Queen will keep, if I judge her correctly, but it will be dangerous for me and others and I am not sure, that Sansa will be happy about that.” “What do you want to do?” Ser Davos asked. “When Brienne has written her message to Ser Jaime, we’ll both set sail for Eastwatch. We’ll catch one of the Undead to bring it south with us.” Brienne was puzzled. “Is there not magic in the wall, that prevents the wights to cross? You told us, that we are all safe as long as the wall holds.” King Jon nodded. “Yes, I believe so, but wights we took with us under the wall came alive in the night. I think, that the magic does not hold once you are stupid enough to bring them over.” Ser Davos objected. “Stupid indeed. That is a mad plan. You’d risk your life by going north of the Wall.” King Jon chuckled. “You shouldn’t say anything. You want to creep under king’s landing and steal wildfire, that is not better. Nobody believed us anyway. I realized that today. We both have to take the risk. It is a gamble, but we might get dragons and wildfire, and that will be worth a lot, I think.”

King Jon’s mood stayed sober throughout the day, when they made plans for their voyages. It lightened considerably when the maester came and gave him a letter from Winterfell. King Jon was eager to read it, opened it immediately and began reading. At one point, he began to laugh and when Davos and Brienne looked at him questioningly he told them that Podrick had been spluttered in mud by an adventurous Ghost. When he had reached the end of the letter, there were tears in his eyes. “Thank the Gods,” he said. “What news?” Davos asked. “My sister Arya is back. She is safe and sound at Winterfell.” Brienne felt elated. “That is wonderful. How did she come back, how did she survive?” “I don’t know yet, there was not much place left in the letter, Sansa wrote. But  I am so relieved. Just this night, I had a dream, that both my sisters were alone and miserable and instead they are together! If you will excuse me, I will write back immediately.” Brienne and Davos left King Jon who had already taken a seat in front of his desk. Brienne saw that he was already writing and when they reached the door he was vigorously scratching something out. Surely, King Jon was not good at writing letters. He was eager to write and yet it took him hours. The last time, he had written to Lady Sansa, he had been preoccupied for two hours. Brienne did not mind. She had her own letter to write and she knew that she would fret over every word, Jaime would read.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I tried to find a reason why Jon would come up with the idea of trying a wight hunt. This is my idea. I think, Jon might relate to Jaime's situation considering how he feels about his supposed half-sister, he might have an inkling on Brienne's feelings and he made the most of the predicament, Daenerys and her team got stuck in. And I think, it makes more sense for everybody to try to speak with Jaime, considering that it would be utter madness to try to talk with Cersei. The more I try to fit the leaks into my story, the more convinced I get, that the leaks can't be all true...
> 
> This was difficult to write. The chapter was about twice as long, but I realised it had a lot of boring dialogue and then I decided to cut that and write from Brienne's POV. I hope it's better now.  
> Next update might be a while. I have an idea for the winterchallenge for Jonsa Fics on tumblr and I have a lot of work to do.


	9. A mouse in the castle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arya dons a face and learns disturbing news.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Littlefinger is an asshole, as always. 
> 
> It may be some time before I can update. There will be a Sansa chapter soon, but I wanted to describe the possible rift from Arya's point of view.
> 
> Please don't hesitate to comment.

When Arya awoke, it was still early and she felt empty, hollow and exhausted, not rested at all. The cheese that had been at her bedside had become glassy at the edges, but that was just as Arya liked it and she ate. Afterwards she felt a little better. _I have to do something about that Frey._ _Perhaps it is time to wear a face._

She rummaged through her room. Obviously, Sansa had decided that Arya could wear trousers just as she wanted. All the clothes in her cupboard were nice and clean, but there were only trousers and tunics. There was a single dress, but that was far too elaborate for Arya’s plan. And the shabby clothes Arya had travelled in were nowhere in sight. Sansa must have had them put away. Arya put on yesterday’s trousers and decided that she would have to steal something appropriate.

When dawn came, Arya was not Arya any longer, but Marisa, a girl from Wintertown struggling to care for her younger siblings and in search for a decent work in the castle to get some money on the side. She applied for the odd job in the kitchen and indeed Lina, the bustling cook, told her, that she could run errands, shrub and clean about twice a fortnight. That was just what Marisa wanted. Not too much of an obligation that would interfere with her work at home, but enough to earn some money to help her family. This arrangement had been useful at the Twins as well. Marisa’s first task was to clean the great hall with other girls. The chatter was all about little Hoster Tully and the Frey. Marisa was all ears, when the other girls told her, that the Frey had tricked Lady Sansa into offering guest right and that Lady Arya had recognized the Frey and had tried to warn her sister. A blond freckled girl, the eldest and in charge of them, voiced her opinion that Lady Sansa was biding her time and that she would put the Frey to death once the traditional three days of hospitality were over. Marisa did not know the Stark family well, so she agreed with everything the other girls said. Arya knew what had happened, but Arya was a daughter of Winterfell and had nothing to do with Marisa. _I doubt, Sansa will kill the Frey, but a girl certainly can._ That was a thought of Arya that crept in.

Before they had finished the cleaning, Lady Sansa came into the hall and Marisa like all the other girls, bowed her head in deference. When the Lady of Winterfell passed, Marisa saw, that Lady Sansa had circles under her eyes, but she still looked very beautiful, more beautiful than a simple girl like Marisa would ever look. The lady of the castle turned towards the Blonde. “It all looks very fine, are you finished with the hall?”. The girl shook her head. “Please tell Lina, to send some breakfast to the hall. Lord Baelish will break his fast with me. But you can continue to put the hall in order, I don’t want to break your routine.” The blonde girl whose name Marisa had yet to learn looked pointedly at Marisa. Marisa as the newest girl in the staff, knew that she would run to the kitchen.” She carefully laid her broom on the floor. Before she left, Lady Sansa stopped her. “Are you new?” Marisa lowered her head and nodded shyly. “What is your name?” Lady Sansa asked. “Marisa”, she murmured almost inaudibly, much in awe that the highborn lady had noticed her. “Could you please bring something to eat to my sister as well? I haven’t seen her yet. She might be hungry.”

Marisa went to the kitchen and came back with a tray with simple food, Lina had already prepared. She dawdled just long enough as to awake no suspicion, if somebody would ask her if she had looked for Lady Arya. Lord Baelish sat at the table just beside Lady Sansa. Marisa set the tray on the table and began unloading it. She took her time to catch some of the discussion.

Lord Baelish was chiding Sansa. “You should know better than to make a decision like that without any of the lords present. You had the situation with Umber and Karstark well in hand. But to be outwitted by a Frey who mingled with the smallfolk petitioners… The Northern lords will be beside themselves because of this outrage. You still have to learn a lot.” Lady Sansa’s cheeks reddened. “It did not happen like that and I have him confined to his rooms. Who would tell them?” Marisa took to cleaning the floor, but listened intently and occasionally chanced a look. “The servants talk about nothing else, it seems that your sister made quite a ruckus.” Lord Baelish smiled. “The lords will learn about Olyvar soon enough and you would not want to hide Hoster, would you?” He shook his head. “That is an unexpected turn of events. We could still exploit this to our advantage. As eldest relative of Hoster you could claim him as your ward and the Riverlands would be yours. That would certainly strengthen your position. You have to play the Northern Lords carefully in this. The vale and I will always be on your side and yours alone.” Lady Sansa shot him a look, that Marisa thought unreadable. “It is so kind of you to instruct me, Lord Baelish.” Lord Baelish took Sansa’s hand in his own and graced her with an oily smile. “You may call me Petyr, sweetling.” Sansa retreated her hand, but gave Lord Baelish an enigmatic smile. “Lord Baelish, we are hardly on such affectionate terms.”

She stood up, the food hardly touched. “My dear Sansa, you know, I hope, that will change soon.“ Lady Sansa did not react to that. “Marisa”, she called out and was a bit startled when Marisa emerged very close by. “Have you seen my sister?” Marisa did her best to give a timid shake of her head fully aware that Lord Baelish looked at her. Lady Sansa had put some of the food back on the tray. “Please help me with the tray,” she said and Marisa took the tray and followed Lady Sansa’s lead.

While they strode through the corridors, the Lady of Winterfell took an interest in Marisa. She wanted to know why she worked in Winterfell, asked for her family, and was very kind in an unobtrusive way Marisa liked. Marisa was surprised when they ended up, at an entirely different door than the one to Arya’s room. She had searched for that room for a while after all. Lady Sansa stopped and took the tray. “Thank you, Marisa,” she said. “Will you be here in three days’ time on the morrow?” Marisa nodded. “Come here to this door, early in the morning, before dawn, and I will have a little errand for you.” She smiled. “I will give you a reward, but you must promise not to tell anyone.” Marisa made a clumsy curtsy. “Of course, Lady Sansa,” she said timidly. “Fine, now go back to your chores.” Marisa had no choice but to turn and leave, although she was burning with curiosity. When she came at the turn of the corridor, she looked back and saw that Lady Sansa still had made no move to push the door.

Marisa returned on light feet, after she was sure, Lady Sansa had entered and put her ear to the door. First, she was taken aback, when she heard the happy high-pitched laughter of a little child, but her suspicion was proven right after all, when she heard the Frey talk. “Hoster, say good morning to your cousin.” The greeting of little Hoster only came through muffled. It seemed he was a timid child. “Good morning, Hoster,” she heard Lady Sansa. “I brought you and your uncle some breakfast.” Marisa heard the shuffling of chairs and the tray with food was put down with a clunk. “You must be hungry, Hoster, but take your time and don’t stuff yourself. Your uncle will join you shortly, but first I have to talk to him.”

The rest of the conversation went by in a hushed murmur, but Marisa could catch the essence of it. Lady Sansa told the Frey about the rumour that he had successfully claimed guest right. She was not happy about that, but told the Frey that he would have the traditional three days, before he was to depart to the wall. She warned him to only eat what she brought him, because she feared that her authority would not be enough to stop someone from poisoning him. She promised to give him provisions just before dawn on the third day and told him, that he should be safe once he had spoken the oath of the Night’s watch. She urged him to do that immediately and to give notice to Winterfell afterwards. When Lady Sansa spoke about how her reputation as a fair and honourable lady of Winterfell was at stake in this case, Marisa straightened and stood up. She was as sure as Arya Stark was, that no Northman would bluster if the Frey died on his way to the wall. And Marisa thought she had just the right opportunity to ensure that. As Lady Sansa had instructed, Marisa went back to her chores in the hall.

Lord Baelish was still sitting in the great Hall and Lord Royce had joined him for breakfast. Marisa busied herself close to them. She was very curious what the Southern Lord had to say. Marisa did not trust Southerners and while she thought that Lord Royce gave the impression of being an honest man, she did not think that he was particularly clever. Not that Marisa was very clever, but a part of her knew how to notice cleverness. She deftly avoided that Lord Baelish would see her, even though crouching under the table meant, that she was uncomfortable.

“I think, King Jon should have a say in that.” Lord Royce said. “It is hardly proper, that a woman chooses a husband for herself. I suppose in the case of the Karstarks it might be in Stark interest that the Lady may not marry at all, but I cannot believe that King Jon would agree to let his sisters marry without his consent. As long as he has no wife or heirs of his own, it is not in his interest to let Sansa or Arya marry outside the North.” Marisa heard Lord Baelish sigh audibly. “I told you, Lady Sansa has the King’s promise in writing, and think about what the sisters’ weddings would mean for the vale.” Marisa felt a bit light-headed. Were they talking about a possible marriage for both Stark sisters? “It would certainly mean that the North and the Vale are bound more closely,” Lord Royce said. “But I think, that Lord Robin should marry Lady Sansa and not you. She is heir to the North as long King Jon has no children, she is Eddard Stark’s trueborn eldest daughter. Surely, she is the best match for the heir to the noble house of Arryn. You as the protector should take the younger girl.”

Marisa forgot to scrub the floor. All this talk about marriage of highborn girls was very interesting for a simple girl like her. She could not help gaping. Lord Baelish answered in a slightly condescending tone possibly lost on Lord Royce. “That is of course true, but Lady Arya is much closer in age to her cousin, and they would be a perfect match. Arya would be tamed by Robin’s gentle nature and she might get him to put more of an effort in his training with weapons. You always tell me how important it is to urge Robin to his sword practice. And with Lady Sansa being the heir King Jon will be more susceptible to agree to a marriage to a man who has no lands of his own. I am sure you thought about that yourself.” Lord Royce did not answer immediately and Marisa held her breath. This was certainly not the right moment to be discovered scrubbing at barely perceptible stains on the floor. “And Lady Sansa came up with that plan?,” Lord Royce finally asked. “I had the impression that she was not inclined to another marriage.”

Lord Baelish spoke in an even softer voice, when he answered. “If you ask Lady Sansa about this, she will tell you, that it is more important to rebuild Winterfell and to prepare for the threat of the others. She knows how important it is that the Northern Lords see her the loyalty to her half-brother and her belief in his claims of danger from beyond the wall. But Lady Sansa and I have often talked, we agree on the importance of the alliance with the Vale and on many other things, and she knows my mind in this. Rest assured that I would be most gentle with a Lady who had such terrible experiences.” Marisa had definitely heard enough. She would have to leave inconspicuously. She left the great hall in a daze, but remembered to bring back the cleaning cloth as Marisa would be meticulous in doing everything right on her very first day.

Marisa went to Lady Arya’s room and when she had shed the face, Arya bolted from her room and ran to the training yard. She was seething with rage. Her sister was planning with that slimy Littlefinger to collect as much power as possible. She dared to sell her into a marriage. Did she even mean to usurp Jon’s kingship? Littlefinger likely did. He knew no friends and did not know any honour or faithfulness. All this caring about Jon’s letters and playing nice. Had it all been just a sham? Arya did not know if she wanted to scream with rage or to curl up in her bed and cry. She opted for training. She would have to think everything through with a clear head.


	10. A question of trust

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Littlefinger's machinations seem to work, even though he had no idea that Arya-Marisa listened to his marriage plans.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, it took me so long to update. It will take a little bit more time to get Arya and Sansa back to trusting each other, but it will happen. Originally I wanted to get done with that in a single chapter, but I need two more, I think. This chapter is from Sansa's PoV.

Sansa sat in her room and fiddled with her quill. She knew it was no use to put off informing Jon of the arrival of Hoster and her decision to send Olyvar Frey to the Wall. Jon might even approve. Sansa hoped so. She tried to picture him, how he would listen to her reasoning, his soft brown eyes gazing at her intently. She could easily imagine him sitting beside her and her heart ached with her longing to have him here at her side, not somewhere in the dreaded South trying to bargain for the future of the North.

But Sansa was at a loss when it came to guess his reaction. Would he take pity with little Hoster like she herself had done, would he quiver with the need for revenge like Arya? Her last letters to Jon had not been so difficult. Sansa had been reasonably sure that Jon would have done the same in the case of the Karstark and Umbers and it had been easy to guide the lords to the decision she thought best. She had enjoyed writing Jon about that. She so wanted him to agree with her, to be proud of her skill and her confidence and it was fun to tell him little things about Ghost and the household. _“There is no need to fret about your half-brother’s opinion, sweetling,”_ she could almost hear Littlefinger’s soft voice. _“You reign in the North now, let them see, that you are a queen, even if they put the bastard on the throne and not Eddard Stark’s trueborn daughter”._ Sansa shook her head. As clever as Littlefinger was, he just did not understand, that she had meant every word when she told him, that she would defend what she had and that it did not matter what she wanted. Littlefinger was delusional when it came to her, she was sure of that. Even this morning, he was so sure, that she would come around, that she would come to accept him as husband, that she wanted power.

What she wanted… It was best not to dwell on that. There was a voice somewhere in her inner heart that whispered of other things than her duty to ensure her brother’s survival and the rebuilding of the North and the Stark name. Sansa was afraid to even acknowledge that little voice, but of one thing she was sure. Whatever longing had nestled in her heart, that lurked at the edge of her sight when she closed her eyes, it was not power she wanted nor to be a scheming player.

Still, as always Littlefinger had a point. If she was careful, she could learn from his lessons without becoming a master schemer. It was important not to doubt herself in public. She could plead for Jon to accept her decision, to him she could show, that she was not confident about the right way to handle Olyvar Frey, but it would never do to betray her self-doubt to the Northern Lords. She was almost certain, that all the rumours about the “tricks” of Olyvar Frey were Littlefinger’s doing. It was like him to just give the scales a little swing, that the Northern lords would have a little doubt about her, about her “too good heart”, so that Sansa would turn to him for advice. And Sansa would do that. For all that she did not want to be devious, irresponsible, scheming, for all that she wanted to find a middle ground between her honourable father and hateful Cersei, for all that she wanted to rule well and look at everybody’s interest she did not ever want to be outwitted and outplayed again. And as long as Littlefinger was about, she could as well make use of the little nuggets that were hidden in all his words. Briefly she wondered, if she was cold-hearted. All she wanted was to get rid of the Lord Protector of the Vale, and still she would exploit him for his knowledge, his knights, his power. _Just until the moment I can rid myself of him. I will find a way._

Sansa put her thoughts aside. It was no use trying to find the right wording. She would just tell Jon what had happened. She could trust her brother with her doubts. She could trust him with being insecure. She took one of Jon’s letter from her case, the one he had written about his meeting with Theon. She could tell, that he wanted her to approve. If the King in the North had no qualms about pleading for her approval, surely she could do the same. Sansa sighed, straightened the letter carefully and put him back in her case. _Does he miss me as well? He would know what to say to Arya. He always knew her so well._ She stopped fiddling with the quill and just started to write.

She was just about to finish, when there was a knock at the door. It was Podrick. “I found your sister, Lady Sansa,” he announced. “She is in the training yard, and apparently tries to wear Tormund out.” Sansa was relieved. Ghost had not been able to find Arya this morning and in the back of her mind she had worried about her sister. “Thank you, Podrick,” she smiled and was amused to see that Brienne’s squire got flustered. She knew that he was still very much in awe of “Lady Sansa”, even if he had seen her half-dead after her escape from Ramsay. “Please tell the Lords to convene at noon.” After all, there was no use in postponing the disagreeable task to inform the lords about Hoster and Olyvar. _And to set the rumours to rest._

 _Family, duty, honour._ Sansa told herself, as she approached the training yard. She had thought about what to say to Arya, when she finally found her. Jon would know what to say, he would make Arya laugh, he would muss her hair. Sansa would have to manage without him. She had no idea, if she would be able to reach her sister. She had brought the letter to Jon with her. To think of Jon made her more confident, and perhaps if Arya would see, that she had left half of the parchment for her, she would not run away. For Jon it would be easy, she would have to stick to try doing the right thing. When Sansa saw Arya, she gave a wave with the letter and put a smile on her face. She flinched inwardly at her fake smile and hoped that Arya would not notice. Arya came over to her, she was breathing heavily from exertion and Tormund looked like he was happy for a break. There were several people training in the yard, including Lord Royce, but as long as there was no shouting, Sansa and Arya should be able to talk in private.

“I wrote to Jon,” Sansa said. “I told him about our cousin Hoster and Olyvar.” Arya’s face was unreadable, but she took the letter. Sansa refrained from telling her that she would leave dots on the parchment. That certainly would not help the tension. “I was looking for you this morning, but I could not find you, neither could Ghost. Have you had anything to eat?”, Sansa asked. Arya read the letter with a frown on her face. She nodded absentmindedly. “Where have you been?”, Sansa asked. Arya looked up from the letter and shrugged. “Here and there. I strolled around the castle.” Sansa took a deliberate calming breath. _Trust, this is about trust,_ she told herself. _Arya is your sister._ “Look,” Sansa said. “I am sorry, I decided without consulting you. I was as surprised as you by the situation. Hearing petitions is usually a tedious job and I am not yet accustomed to have you with me. It won’t happen again.” She was glad that that had come out rather smoothly. After her first attempt to smile away the tension had not been successful, Sansa did not try again.

“You said so in your letter,” Arya said. “But you will not reconsider your decision about that Frey or you would have told Jon.” Arya’s eyes were intent on her face and Sansa’s heart sank. Arya would not be happy with her. She shook her head. “No, I will not kill Olyvar. I believe him that he was not part of the Red Wedding.” Sansa could tell that Arya’s fury was kindled again, but apparently her sister had decided to stay calm. “You realise, that there are several people who will want him dead as well. Where is he?” Sansa was at a loss. She opted for the truth again. “If you promise me, that you will not harm him, I will tell you.” Arya gave her a cold stare, that went straight to Sansa’s heart. “Then you’d better not tell anyone,” she said. Sansa tried not to let show her hurt. “I called for a meeting at noon. Before Jon left, we had the idea to send some of the lesser bannermen to the wall to help the Night’s watch and to do some patrolling. We hoped to dissolve the remaining doubts about the White Walkers. And it is no use to dance about the subject of Olyvar. I want to inform everybody about my decision. There are already all kinds of rumour floating about.” “We shall see then what everybody else has to say about the Frey,” Arya said.

Lord Royce had stopped his own training, approached them and greeted them both. “The ladies Stark”, he said. “Such a welcome sight to see. You look like your mother, Lady Sansa, and you Lady Arya, look like Lady Lyanna. It pleases my heart that you lovely ladies grace the court here in Winterfell.” Sansa did not know what to make of that. She thought that she did much more than just ‘grace the court’ and though Arya admittedly did look stunning, her cheeks red from the exercise, “lovely lady” was not the description that came to Sansa’s mind. But Sansa knew better than to jeopardize the goodwill of Lord Royce who would be crucial for the alliance with the vale, if she ever succeeded in taking Littlefinger down. She smiled and gave a slight nod. “Thank you, Lord Royce. It is kind of you to say so.” Lord Royce came a little bit closer as if he wanted to share a secret. “It must be so tiresome for you, Lady Sansa, to run Winterfell. You should think about sharing the burden with a capable husband, don’t you think so?” Sansa kept a straight face, although she was offended that Lord Royce doubted her abilities. _I will just have to prove myself. All the doubts will disappear with time._

“These are trying times for us all, Lord Royce,” she said. “Winter is upon us and with the threat in the North, this is hardly the time for weddings, as the King would tell you, if he was here.” Lord Royce nodded. “Of course,” he said and patted her hand. “You would have to say that, wouldn’t you?”. Sansa did not understand that last comment at all, she just had the feeling that this was another of Littlefinger’s manoeuvres. She scowled. “This is not something I have to say, Lord Royce, “ she answered. “It is not just the North, but Westeros that is in danger and I would think that that should be our primary concern.”  For some reason her words only seemed to make Lord Royce smile even more condescendingly and knowingly.

When Sansa looked at Arya she was very much taken aback, that Arya obviously did not take her serious either. Lord Royce could not see Arya’s face, but Sansa could see that her sister’s eyes were blazing with fury and she had no idea, why Arya of all people would be furious with her for giving priority to Jon’s politics. _We have talked about marriages. We talked about the fact that I don’t want to marry again. Why is she so angry?_ Arya turned to Lord Royce and gave a slight bow. “Lord Royce, you will excuse me. I have a letter to write.” She turned to Sansa again, her face now carefully guarded. “I will see you at noon, Lady Sansa,” she said and left, the letter to Jon still clutched tightly in her hand. Sansa looked at her back and barely managed to suppress tears forming in her eyes. When they were children, Sansa usually had a good idea of why her sister was angry with her, even if she could not fully understand her reasoning, but now she had absolutely no clue, why nothing she had said and done had tempered Arya’s anger. She had been so happy to see her sister again, to finally have someone she thought she could trust. Now, her heart ached from the misery that she had somehow failed to win her sister’s trust and from her inability to tell what exactly was wrong. Littlefinger probably would have an explanation, but Sansa would not ask him. He was undermining her in any way he could she was sure, she dared not show him her insecurities. How she missed Jon!


	11. The council

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The fate of Olyvar Frey is the subject of the council meeting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally I intended for Arya and Sansa to reconcile in this chapter, but you have to wait a little bit longer... Some of the things that happen here will be important later on and I thought it would be a good idea to put them here, so it won't come out of the blue.  
> If you like it, please comment. I always appreciate them. Though the writing is fun, I am a sucker for comments and cudos.

When the lords convened at noon, Lina had prepared some simple food as Sansa had instructed. The lords especially Lord Manderly might be more agreeable if they were not hungry. Arya arrived just before the other lords came and Sansa asked her about the letter to Jon. “Already on the way,” was all the answer Sansa got. _I am not going to ask her what she wrote._ Sansa bit her lip and drew a deep breath. She would not betray her nervousness. She pictured her father and her mother as she had seen them many times. _I can do this._

None of the lords asked why she had called for a meeting. _The rumours about Olyvar must have reached them already._ Several acted surprised when Sansa first addressed the question of patrolling the wall. Sansa summoned up her and Jon’s reasoning: Each of the bannermen should send some soldiers to the wall.  They would help the Night’s watch and be relieved after two months, so that other could be sent in their stead. There would be steady patrolling of the wall and everybody could see that the King in the North and the Lord Commander told the truth about walking dead men. She invoked Jon’s name several times and stressed that the patrolling had been his idea as well as hers. Her reasoning was received well, even when Sansa stressed that the patrolling would not be a duty for the free folk, since they had already lost so many first to the White walkers and then at the battle against the Boltons. Lord Royce even volunteered to send some of the knights of the vale as well. Since he was easily the most sceptical about the threat in the North, Sansa was very happy to accept this. Only Arya seemed to scowl about every time, Sansa mentioned Jon. When the lords agreed to the plan, Sansa’s confidence grew and she prepared herself for the next, more difficult discussion.

Before she could open her mouth, Lord Manderly voiced his concern aloud. “That is all very well,” he said. “I heard that a Frey was accepted in Winterfell’s halls yesterday and I would like an explanation.” “I was just about to come to that, Lord Manderly,” Sansa said. She forced herself to relax her hands and tried to give an impression of being cool and collected. Then she proceeded to tell, what had happened, and looked each of the lords in the faces, although her heart was pounding and the faces were somewhat blurry before her eyes. She could see that Littlefinger gave a slight shake of his head as if he did not think that the truth was the sensible option. “My sister will tell you, that everything happened as I said,” Sansa finished. She looked at Arya and tried not to let her concern show. _Arya will back me in this, she won’t lie. She never did._ Arya scowled, but as Sansa had expected she kept to the truth. “It was as Lady Sansa has told you,” she confirmed, but then she added: “But I think, that she is mistaken about the intentions of the Frey. I doubt that he simply wanted to bring Hoster Tully to his cousin.” “What else would he want?” Sansa asked. “He risked death by coming here to Winterfell. And if he would act against me or you, Hoster would be in danger again. Hoster’s safety depends on us accepting him.” Sansa tried not to fall into old patterns of arguing with her sister. If Arya would just have been willing to talk to her, they might have had that argument in private. “That Frey tricked you. He pretended to be of the smallfolk, so that you would be on your own without the Lords and make a rash decision. Jon would not have been fooled like that.” Sansa felt the blood rushing to her cheeks. How was it that Arya managed to address the exact point of her insecurity? That she herself had no idea what Jon would have done. She knew that the blood in her face betrayed her, but she schooled her face and masked her exasperation. _Thank you, Arya, for telling everybody you think I can’t be trusted with decisions on my own._ “You can hardly blame Olyvar Frey for wanting to survive.” Sansa said. She deliberately avoided reminding everybody of her authority to decide in Jon’s absence. It would only draw attention to her fragile position.

 “But should he survive?” Littlefinger asked. “It seems to me, that all the Lords should have a say in that.” Littlefinger always told her that he wanted her to learn the game. And he was the one relentlessly making the most of it, if he thought her moves were bad. _One more reason not to play as he wants me to play._ _And to get rid of him._ “I would also argue, that the Frey is to be discussed by the whole council.” Arya said, agreeing with Littlefinger of all people. The discussion that followed was ugly. Sansa tried to steer her way very carefully. She did not dare to rely too much on Jon’s authority and she did not want to make the point that she could hardly welcome Hoster and kill his uncle in case somebody would see that as a woman’s weakness. Instead she argued that every life was needed at the wall and thankfully Tormund backed her in this, arguing that the Gods would judge him, but it was no use. The lords who had agreed to give Karstark and Umber a chance for redemption thought that they would have to draw a line at a Frey. When everybody had voiced an opinion, it was only Tormund and her that were in favour of sending Olyvar to the wall, Lyanna Mormont wanted a trial, but Arya, the Lords Glover, Cerwyn and Manderly as well as Lordy Royce and Littlefinger wanted an execution. Sansa knew that in the face of this outcome she would better not point out that Littlefinger and Lord Royce had no say in the Northern Council. Olyvar Frey would have to pay the price for the live of Harrion Umber and the freedom of Alys Karstark. The lords had made their point that they would not bend to her will in everything.

 _If I were Cersei I would just chop all their heads off and then I would have no followers left. No, if I were Cersei I would not be in this predicament, because I would have let Olyvar killed as soon as I knew who he was._ Sansa made a point to put forward an argument, that Olyvar should have at least a chance to defend himself in a trial. “And Hoster must be kept safe. Even if his mother is a Frey, he is still the son of Edmure Tully and a child and I won’t let anyone harm my cousin.” Although the lords agreed with her about Hoster, they continued to argue, and in the end, they agreed to a trial. Sansa counted that as a small victory, even if she doubted that Olyvar could produce a proof for his claim that he had not been present at the Red Wedding.

There was still a chance, however, that she would not have to put Olyvar to death. She had been careful. Nobody should know where Olyvar was. She just would have to smuggle Olyvar out of the castle sooner. She was glad that she had brought Ghost to Hoster for protection after the wolf had returned from his unsuccessful hunt for Arya. Sansa briefly glanced at Podrick who stood watch at the door. _Strange that of the few people I trust, the former squire of my Lannister husband is the one I trust most._

Arya stood up. “If it is a trial, there is no point in delay.” Sansa’s heart went to her throat. She desperately tried to catch Arya’s attention, but her sister avoided her gaze. “If you follow me, my lords, I will lead you to my cousin Hoster and that Frey. He should face his guilt immediately.” Suddenly Sansa felt ice cold with dread. _How did Arya know where Olyvar was?_ She risked a glance at Littlefinger and he gave her a smug smile. _Was he behind that?_ _Or is he just smiling, because Arya openly defies me?_ The lords seemed puzzled, but stood up as well and Sansa forced her weak knees to work and stood as well. Arya strode purposefully to the door and they all followed.

Arya really seemed to know the way. When they went into the corridors, that led to Olyvar’s room Sansa’s mind was reeling. How could she prevent that? Could she try to postpone the likely execution until Jon was back? Olyvar should be put to death by a Stark. Could she play the squeamish lady? No, that would not do, if she herself would not do it, Arya certainly would. She would have to do it herself, if she wanted to salvage a shred of authority from that disaster. She cursed herself. Why, why had she trusted Arya with a seat on the council? Amidst the dread, Sansa could feel anger rising as well. Why did Arya always have to follow her own mind? Littlefinger fell back to her side and gave her a small smile. “Sweetling,” he whispered to her. “You should not have acted on your own. I would have given you better council how to deal with Olyvar Frey. How little influence you have on you sister. Wild Arya has to be tamed, don’t you agree?” “You weren’t exactly helpful, either, Lord Baelish” she hissed back. “Sansa, Sansa,” Littlefinger smiled. “I have my own aims, as you well know, and saving Freys is not one of them. We should talk about a fitting match for your sister, preferably far away from Winterfell.” Sansa shot him a look that was laden with anger. “We will most certainly not talk about anything in the corridors,” she said. That she should have to caution Littlefinger about not talking too freely! Lord Royce who was just before them might have listened to their exchange. It was not like Littlefinger at all to be as careless as this.

There was quite a lot of commotion when they all reached the chamber of Hoster and Olyvar. Sansa was relieved that Olyvar was nowhere in sight. Perhaps she would have time to send Ghost to warn him. Hoster was playing with Ghost and the big direwolf was patiently fetching a little ball, Hoster threw into the corners of the room. His face lit up: “Cousin Sansa,” he said and gave one of his funny little bows. “I like your wolf.” Sansa smiled despite herself at seeing him so enthusiast. “I am glad you like him. Hoster, these are the Lords of the North who wanted to see you.” Sansa gave a wave to Ghost who came to her side obediently. She would have to buy time. “I am sure, all these lords will be happy to explain who they are.” If the Lords’ attention was on Hoster she might have the chance to whisper an order to Ghost. Ghost wagged his tail and looked at her with his tongue lolling out. “Where is your uncle?” Arya blurted out. Hoster’s mood changed rapidly and his face fell. “He has gone to become on the black knights of the wall.” Sansa sucked in her breath in surprise. _Could it be true?_ Hoster went to the table and took a parchment and brought it to Sansa. “Uncle Olyvar wrote this.” Sansa took the letter.

_Dear Lady Sansa,_

_may the Old Gods and the New bless you. Thank you for taking Hoster and thank you for your unexpected kindness. I would not want to burden you further or to endanger you on my behalf. When you read this, I will have departed for the Wall. I know that Hoster will be in good hands. I would only beg you to tell him that his mother and his uncle love him._

_Olyvar Frey_

Sansa could feel the tension draining from her body. _Maybe I will try praying again. I certainly should thank the Gods for this._ Arya took the letter from her slack hands and read it aloud for all to hear. Sansa was too relieved to scold her for the discourtesy of reading out a private letter. Arya was seething with anger. “He can’t have gone far,” she said. “We could still find him.” Sansa came to herself. “No,” she said. “I think that this is sign of the Old Gods, that Olyvar is innocent. You agreed to a trial. It would seem that the Gods have made their will known.” She did not truly believe this, but it was too good an opportunity to be wasted. She desperately needed someone’s authority in her back and if she could not have the backing of the Lords, the Gods would have to do.

Arya scoffed. “Ghost,” she called. The white wolf stood to attention and padded to her. She waved the letter in front of his nose. “Search for him, Ghost, find the Frey. I’ll follow your lead and we’ll kill him. Jon would want that.” Ghost took a short sniff at the letter. Then he bared his teeth and for a moment, Sansa thought he would run from the room and follow Arya’s order, but Ghost gave a silent snarl and padded back to her side. Arya became pale as a sheet, when Ghost sat down and shortly licked Sansa’s fingers. The silence that fell was almost unbearable and Sansa could see that the Lords were filled with superstitious awe, until Tormund gave a laugh. “It seems Lady Sansa is right. The Gods gave judgement.” “Or Lady Sansa has that animal well in hand,” Littelfinger quipped. Lady Lyanna saved Sansa from answering to that. “Nobody orders this wolf about. I’ve been in his company for the campaign against the Boltons, and he has his own mind. I think the matter of the Frey is settled.”


	12. A dragon's eyes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon prepares for his journey to Eastwatch and for the first time he comes close to one of the dragons.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is somewhat inspired by the pics of Kit Harrington with a dragon head prop taken in Spain. I saw the pics at Watchers on the Wall. It will be important plotwise, later on.  
> If you like it, please comment. This fic is growing a little bit out of hand. I can't believe I wrote 12 chapters to cope with the season 7 leaks!

Ser Davos came in the early morning hours. Jon was woken from a fitful sleep and troubled dreams and although he was far from rested, he was glad to get up. Ser Davos would leave for King’s Landing and Brienne and Jon would travel to Eastwatch. Jon worried that they spread their party thin. If anybody of the dragon queen’s party would decide to go against them, they would be outnumbered. _I knew that was a risk when I left Winterfell with only a handful of people. But Daenerys doesn’t seem like she would go back on her word._

It did not take them long to collect their meagre belongings. Jon took care to take all the letters from Winterfell and decided to put them close to his heart and stuffed them in his shirt. He wondered, if tourney favours had originally meant just this, a remembrance of loved ones in the thick of battle and close to death. _I’m such an idiot. Sansa sewed all my clothes. I have her near. I really should not indulge in this._ But still, the letters smooth leather hides somehow felt good against his skin. _If I’m going to die on this mission I might as well have something of Sansa close._

When they went to the harbour, Ser Davos commented on Jon’s tired looks. “I’m not entirely sure, this is a good idea, your grace. I think, you should go back to Winterfell and try to command some of your bannermen to collect evidence for the threat of the White Walkers.” Jon shook his head. “I will be much faster going by ship and I know the lands beyond the wall. I will recruit men at Eastwatch for the task. The rangers of the Night’s watch are far better suited for that than my bannermen. By now, it should be easy enough to come across wights and I’ll be back in a few weeks for the negotiations.” Davos did not object to that, but Jon could see that he was troubled. _He’s the one going to King’s Landing in Cersei’s lair to steal wildfire. Perhaps he is aware that he can hardly chide me for taking to many risks._

Brienne joined them when they left the palace. Her face was solemn, as usual, and she gave a bow to Jon and a short nod to Davos. “Your grace, I hope you had a good night’s rest after the news of your sister Arya’s return.” Jon stopped his steps. Had she noticed that he slept poorly? “If I’m honest, I must admit that I barely had any sleep.” Perhaps Brienne or Davos would have an explanation. He trusted her and Davos and it would be good to talk about his worries, or at least part of his worries. “I dreamt about my sisters. Several dreams. In most of them, they were shouting at each other and Ghost was standing between them and hardly knew what to do, a shadowed figure in the back was laughing with glee.” Naturally, he left out the by now familiar dreams of Sansa in his arms and he deliberately omitted that he had looked on the blurred dream through Ghost’s eyes. He also did not mention, that he was sure the shadowed figure was Littlefinger, that he was sure that poor Ghost had stood by Sansa’s side in his last dream. Brienne and Davos looked at him with an almost identical worried look on their faces that would have been funny in other circumstances. Ser Davos was the first to say something and Jon had been right. He offered comfort: “Your grace, you’ve just got a letter that all is well. Why would your sisters have a fallout?” Jon shrugged. “I don’t really know.” There had been a small child as well who looked like Rickon had, when he was a toddler, and a young man, with a still boyish look who had a haunted look in his eyes. Arya had had a blurry dagger in hand and sometimes she had been there and in other dreams there was just a whiff of her in Ghost’s nose. _Arya wouldn’t hurt a child that looks like Rickon._ But she sure had had murder in her eyes.

“Arya and Sansa are very different. They might not agree on quite a lot of things. And yesterday’s letter took time to arrive here. A lot might have happened since then.” It felt good to voice his worries, but speaking them out loud only made him realise that getting letters only meant that Sansa and Arya had been safe two or maybe three days ago. Dread gripped at his heart. Even before the letter had arrived there had been that vague feeling of trouble. Whatever stood behind his dreams could be the truth. There was no sure way to know. Although Ghost was so far away, Jon knew that dreams seen through Ghost’s eyes had a feeling of reality to them. He still had no idea if that was something that should worry him.  Just in case he was cautious not to let slip anything about his special bond with his direwolf.

“A lot might have happened,” Brienne agreed, “but I’m sure nothing will separate the sisters. When I met Lady Sansa after she fled Winterfell we talked about Arya. I still remember her face, when I told her how Arya had not looked like a lady at all. Lady Sansa loves her sister, they will work it out. If there even is something to work out.” Jon had not known about that. “What did Sansa say?” he asked. “That Arya would not look like a lady and she smiled so sweetly thinking of her, that I cannot fathom that they would fall out in earnest.” Jon could easily picture Sansa’s smile and he had to smile himself, thinking about how different Sansa would have reacted to Arya’s unladylike dressing when they were children. “We can’t do anything now, anyway, and I already wrote them, that they should stick together.” Jon turned again, determined not to be overcome by his worries. After all, it could be just the imagination of on overtired mind or his worry about what Arya would have to say to him if she ever learned about his unnatural feelings for Sansa.

When they reached the harbour, Theon was already there, as well as Lord Tyrion who apparently was dispatched to tell them goodbye. Jon was glad to see him. He really liked the man and his ready wit. Theon took a step back and gave a slight bow to Jon and Jon felt a sudden urge to be generous to Theon. “Good morning, Theon,” he said. “I had good news from Winterfell, yesterday. Arya has found her way back.” Theon gave a smile that gave only a hint of the boisterous grin Jon had been used to in their time at Winterfell. “That’s good to hear. I hope the girls won’t be in each other’s hair as they used to be.” The lame joke was much too close to Jon’s worries. He frowned at Theon. “Sansa is a grown woman. I am sure, both Sansa and Arya won’t squabble over trifles.” Unbidden he relived his last dream, how Arya had given a command to Ghost, a command, he knew, Sansa would not abide. _What if it’s not trifles? What will they do? What is Littlefinger up to? O Gods, just keep them safe._ He hardly realised that in his anguish he had begun to pray again, even if only in his mind.

Tyrion reached out to shake Jon’s hand and shook him out of his reverie. “I hope that you won’t get lost beyond the wall, King Snow. If you find this grumpkin, bring it along.” Jon gave a short laugh. “I’ll try my best,” he said. “Hopefully, we’ll be back in a few weeks. If we don’t come back I’ll trust you, Lord Tyrion, to act for the best of Westeros.” Tyrion pressed his hands. “If anything happens to you I will do my best for your sister, but we’ll see each other again, I’m sure.” Jon was thankful for the reassurance, but he felt compelled to put Tyrion in line. “Just remember that Sansa is not to be wedded against her will.” Tyrion answered immediately “Certainly not. I had to watch her face at our wedding and I would not want her to go through that again. Not me either, if I am honest.” Jon tried to school his face as an image of Sansa in distress at a wedding she did not want came to his mind. Then a picture formed in his mind unbidden of Sansa looking radiant at a wedding she wanted. He was sure that he would love to kill any man Sansa wanted. _If I die and Sansa does wed a man she likes at least I don’t have to watch her as a happy bride._

Jon said farewell to Ser Davos as well. The older man actually patted him on the shoulder and Jon was unsure how to react to that. He knew that Ser Davos had lost a son in battle and sometimes he thought that Davos saw his lost son in him, but he was not accustomed to open display of affection. His own father had always been kind, but he had not been keen to show affection. Jon shook Theon’s hand and wished him luck in finding his sister.

Suddenly, he felt a gust of air at his back and saw a wary look on Theon’s and Tyrion’s faces. He turned and there was one of the dragons, the green one. Jon had never seen one of them so close. Until now he just had admired their elegant forms in the air. His scales were shining with a soft green shimmer in the early light and Jon thought that he saw curiosity and intelligence in the dragon’s eyes. He was in awe and fascinated of the depth of the beast’s gaze. Involuntarily as if in a daze, he took several steps in the dragon’s direction. The dragon lowered his head in a gesture that had a touch of deference and Jon boldly stepped even further on. He could hear the gasps of his audience, but he did not care. Indistinctly he could hear Tyrion cautioning him not to get too near, but Jon was lost in admiration for the dragon and a quaint feeling of familiarity he had no explanation for. The dragon stared at him intently and it seemed to Jon that he inhaled cautiously as if probing the air around them. The dismay of his companions meant nothing to Jon as he went closer until he came face to face with the dragon. He reached out with his hand and stared in wonder as the dragon ever so tenderly touched his hand with his snout. The dragon’s skin felt hot to the touch and Jon laughed in delight at the wonder of it all. He even had the heart to give the dragon a scratch. For a short moment, it was as if he could see himself through the dragon’s eyes, just like at the rare moments he really was in Ghost’s head. Jon was in awe because of the wonder of it all and he felt giddy with excitement. The agitated voices of the others were just a feeble sound until the dragon closed his eyes in delight at Jon’s scratching and the spell was broken. The dragon lowered his head again and suddenly sprang up and took to his wings again. The voices of Davos, Brienne, Tyrion and Theon came back into focus with a crash although the sense of wonder only faded slowly. He was taken aback that Davos loudly scolded him for taking such a risk, although he realised that Theon had turned an unhealthy shade of white.

Jon laughed, feeling better than he had felt for days. If the dragons were that tame, it would be wonderful to have them at their side. Tyrion shook his head in wonder. “I’m at a loss.”, he said. “I’ve never seen Rhaegal do this. He wanted you to touch him. He was quite taken by you.” Tyrion’s face became pensive. “I have a way with wild animals.” Jon said. In a fit of exuberance, he waved to the dragon who was circling high above them. “What are you waiting for?”  Jon asked. “We all have our tasks ahead.” Brienne answered “We stood with bated breath. I sure thought, the dragon had decided to have the king in the North for breakfast, your grace.”  Jon went back to the others with a spring in his step. “Nonsense”, he said. “The dragon was not hungry at all.” It was only later when they were already setting course for Eastwatch that Jon wondered how he had known that the dragon hadn’t been interested in food.


	13. Running an errand

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arya wears the face of Marisa again and has to run errands for Lady Sansa.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just wanted to write a paragraph with Arya as Marisa, but somehow it became a whole chapter. The reconciliation of the sisters is not far away, but first Sansa has to deal with even more petitioners.

Arya spent the whole day wearing the face of Marisa. Marisa’s family needed the money and all the work that came with Marisa’s assistance in the castle’s kitchen meant that there was little time to think and many an opportunity to work of the anger that occasionally crept up from Arya. The servants were all abuzz over yesterday’s council meeting and Marisa was a bit surprised that the opinion of the servants had turned. While they had talked about the devious Frey yesterday who tricked Lady Sansa into offering guest right, now most of them were in awe of the fact, that the Gods had spoken for Lady Sansa.

The freckled girl – whose name was Kia – who had been so sure yesterday that Lady Sansa would just bide her time and kill the Frey after three days, was now outraged, that the Lords had openly defied Lady Sansa. “King Jon left Lady Sansa in charge, and so far she has done a wonderful job. The lords had no right to challenge her. It was her decision to make!”, Kia stated loudly and there was quite a lot of approving murmurs. Marisa’s heart skipped a beat when somebody mentioned Lady Arya. “Her sister should never have spoken against her in council. She’s quite a wild one, that Lady Arya,” somebody said. “I saw her in the yard yesterday, sparring with that red-beard wildling”, somebody else said. “Tormund is of the free folk.” Kia said. “Lady Sansa always calls them free folk.” _Well that Kia girl is certainly very loyal._ A part of Marisa knew that loyal servants often acted like that, talking about the affairs of the Lords and Ladies, voicing their own opinions, and yet they were put out if somebody else dared criticize their lord or lady.

It was a busy day and Marisa had to help in the great hall again. This morning Lady Sansa broke her fast with Lyanna Mormont at her side. On her other side sat Ghost and neither Lord Cerwyn nor Lord Baelish dared sit next to the huge wolf. Lord Manderly finally took the seat, but Lady Sansa was deep in conversation with Lady Lyanna and paid him no mind. Marisa could catch some bits of their conversation while going about her business. When Marisa brought the bread, Lady Sansa thanked the little Lady for speaking out for justice and Lady Lyanna accepted with a gracious nod that would have been befitting of a Queen. When Marisa set some drinking-horns on the table, the she-bear asked for milk and Marisa just caught Lady Sansa suggesting, that the Mormont man Torrhen should be detached to look after Karhold and assist Alys Karstark as well as ensuring her loyalty. Occasionally, Lady Sansa was distracted. Marisa could see that she would look about the great hall as if she was searching for somebody and sometimes she bent down to whisper something to her white wolf. _Not her wolf, not really, Jon’s wolf, or did she steal him like she stole my revenge?_ When breakfast was finished, Marisa and Kia were told to get the plates. Lady Sansa stood and Marisa saw, that she had not eaten much. “Kia,” Lady Sansa called and Kia came readily enough and gave a quick curtsey. “And you,” Lady Sansa pointed at Marisa. “Marisa, isn’t it?” Marisa hastened at Kia’s side and curtsied as well.

“Has either of you seen Lady Arya?” she asked. Kia and Marisa shook their heads. “Do you have urgent work to do?” Lady Sansa asked in a low voice. “Nothing particularly urgent,” Marisa answered in a voice just as low. She was curious, what Lady Sansa wanted them to do. Lady Sansa smiled at them and Kia seemed to be happy about that. Marisa withheld judgement. She was not so sure about Lady Sansa’s kindness as she had been the last time. “Marisa, you’ve seen Lady Arya, haven’t you?” Marisa nodded. She did not trust her voice entirely. She had never seen Arya, but she knew Arya and that was what it was about, if she understood Sansa correctly. “When we spoke last,” Lady Sansa continued. “Did you see her after that?” _Ah, she probably wants to know, if Marisa told Arya about the Frey._ Marisa shook her head. Lady Sansa scrutinized her with a solemn face until Marisa felt uncomfortable. When she started speaking again, her voice was still low, but held more warmth. “I have an important task for you. I want you to look for Lady Arya. Somehow, she seems to have vanished. Please start at the stables and check if she has taken a horse. Don’t make a fuss about it and please don’t ask around. I don’t think there is reason to worry, yet. If you find her, please bring her to me. I will be here in the hall, there is still a lot to do.” When the girls set off to do the Lady’s bidding, she called after them. “Please inform Cook Lina, before you start!”

While Kia was very happy to have been sent on a special errand, Marisa was sulking. She knew that they both were wasting their time, and if they were to do a thorough search, they would probably be preoccupied until sunset. Kia insisted on doing the search together, she had learned while she worked for the Boltons that it was better not to walk alone, or Marisa would just have put an end to it. Instead of listening in to Lady Sansa’s politics, she had to endure the prattle of Kia. She had been a kitchen girl since the Boltons took over and she had a lot to say about the cold Lord Roose Bolton and his son Ramsay, the bastard. Marisa knew that Ramsay had been a bastard in truth, but the story about how Ramsay disposed of his baby brother and his step-mother was grizzly indeed and Marisa could understand that Kia was happy her fortune had taken a turn for the better. Her loyalty to Lady Sansa was only understandable. If only Kia had not felt it necessary to go on about Lady Arya again, how kind Lady Sansa had it difficult enough with all those lords who thought they knew better. How could her sister contradict her openly, in the council meeting. It was outrageous. Marisa interrupted Kia’s rant and bade her consider that Lady Arya wanted revenge on the Frey. Kia snorted. “They should not argue in public. It undermines Lady Sansa. I wouldn’t say a thing, if they would shout at each other in Lady Sansa’s solar.” She sighed. “And Lady Sansa was so happy, when Arya came back. You should have seen that! They both cried for happiness and Ghost ran in circles around them.” Kia scowled. “I blame that slimy Lord from the vale. I don’t know how, but I am just sure, he is at the bottom of it.”

Marisa stopped in her tracks. “Littlefinger?” she asked.  “How would he do that? I don’t think that Arya, I mean Lady Arya,” she added pointedly for Kia’s sake. “would trust a word he said.” Kia shrugged. “I don’t really know. I just don’t trust him and sometimes I hear him say things. How concerned King Jon is about the threat of the White Walkers and how all must stick together. And then he always adds that nobody ever saw a White Walker.” “The wildlings saw them.” Marisa put in. “Exactly, and he always says it like that,” she gave a perfect imitation of Littlefinger’s voice. ”the ‘unruly wildlings’. He reminds everybody about how we don’t trust the Free Folk. That Tormund fellow. He is unruly, and he is wild, and he is loud, but I trust him more than Lord Baelish. And the way that Southron fop looks at Lady Sansa gives me the creeps,” Kia finished, satisfied that Marisa could not possibly argue against that.

As Marisa could have told from the beginning, their search was utterly futile. Kia insisted on informing Lady Sansa about every second hour about their failure, but she never left Marisa alone. Lady Sansa became increasingly worried, and in the course of the day, more people began to search as well. Marisa was preparing for an inconspicuous departure so that Lady Arya could be found, when they ran across Podrick, Tormund and Torrhen, the Mormont’s man. They had ridden out to check if Lady Arya might have run away on foot and they came back with three men in tow, all of them well known to the tiny part of Marisa that was by now desperate to come into the light again. Podrick dismounted and waved to Kia. “Please, fetch Lady Sansa.”, he told her. “Tell her to come outside.” Kia made round eyes. “Why? Bring these men in.” Podrick gave a short laugh. “If I do that, there will be another petitioning crisis. Lady Sansa will deal with these men alone.” Kia nodded knowingly: “Bring them to Lady Sansa’s solar and I’ll bring her there,” she said, already turning on her heels and running. Marisa had trouble to keep up.

If it had been for Marisa, she would have shouted to Lady Sansa, that outlaws from the Riverlands wanted to see her, preferably in such a way that some of the lords would notice, but Kia had been so fast, that Lady Sansa and Kia were already on their way to the solar, when Marisa caught up with Kia. How could she now alert somebody to the fact that Sansa would decide something important again without any lord near! And that Payne boy and the wildling Tormund were in it as well! And then Lady Sansa bade them to stop their search and come with her, just as if she knew or suspected what Marisa had planned. Desperately Marisa pleaded that she had to make water, but Lady Sansa just told her that she could use her own privy. The lady’s privy in her rooms! There was absolutely no way Marisa could escape. Marisa cursed herself that she had given in to the temptation to wear a face today. She wondered if Jacquen ever had been in the predicament that he could not get rid of a face without giving away the faceless men’s secret. Probably not, boys and men just did not crowd like girls and women did.

When they arrived at the solar, Lady Sansa shooed Marisa to the privy and Kia went with her, dancing on her toes as if it just came to her mind that she, too, had to make water. Marisa was quite sure, that Kia just wanted to look at the privy. _I should have shed my face instead of running after Kia._ When Kia and Marisa emerged from the privy, the three men were ushered in by Podrick, Torrhen and Tormund. The outlaw’s weapons had been taken, yet Tormund, Torrhen and Podrick stood alert. Lady Sansa’s face mirrored her utter surprise. “Sandor Clegane,” she said. “I had not thought to ever see you again.” The man with the burnt face gave a bow. “Little Bird,” he rasped.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I got carried away with that one. I had fun imagining how sometimes it must be difficult to change faces, if you just can't manage to be alone. The faceless men usually shed their face after a kill, if there is "no one" left to spill the secret.


	14. Questions and answers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa learns important news from the remaining three men of the Brotherhood without banners.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had a lot to do and it took me a while to write this chapter. Hope you like it! If you do, please don't hesitate to comment. I really appreciate all my commentors and the people who just leave kudos!

“Little Bird,” the Hound rasped. Sansa felt like she had been thrown in cold water, her breath catching in her throat.

“I heard, that you died, but you live,” she said and felt a little stupid, for stating something that was obvious.

Sandor Clegane laughed. “I’ve heard already that your little wild sister has found her way to Winterfell. When she left me, she thought that I was dying.”

Sansa nodded. “And Lady Brienne of Tarth told me the same, the woman who beat you.” The Hound did not like to be reminded of that, Sansa could see that.

“Who are these?” She studied the faces of the others and she immediately recognized one of the others “Thoros of Myr, priest of the Red God.”, she said. It took her a moment to identify the third. “Berric Dandorrion. My father sent you to the Riverlands to bring justice to Gregor Clegane, the day he sat on the Iron throne as hand of the king. You three make for strange travelling companions.” Sansa felt a sharp pang at remembering that day. How she had admired the knights eager to serve the king. 

Berric and Thoros bowed. “And for a long time, we have tried to help the smallfolk in the Riverlands. King Robert and Lord Eddard are long dead, but we tried to bring the King’s peace. But we never fulfilled your father’s wishes,” Berric said.

“So, you did not catch Gregor Clegane,” she said. She turned to the Hound. “Did you join them to get at your brother?”

The Hound shook his head. “No, I joined them to take revenge on the men who murderer brother Ray, the good septon, who healed me.”

Sansa looked at the three warily. “Why did you come to Winterfell? I must warn you, whatever you want, it is not only my will that counts here. You were brought here in secret and I will hear you out and maybe even try to help you, but you must address your wishes in public as well.”

The Hound was taken aback. “You are the Lady of Winterfell! You can do as you wish!”

Sansa shook her head. “As you well know, Sandor Clegane, nobody can do as he or she wishes, not all the time. My brother is not here and in his absence, some have doubts that I act in his interest. I have to consult with his bannermen on most important questions.” She risked a glance at the two maids she had brought with her to her solar. She was almost certain, that Marisa was the one responsible for telling Arya where Olyvar was. She had hoped that the girl would know where to find her sister. Perhaps she had been mistaken about Marisa or Arya wanted to stay hidden. The other freckled girl, Kia, had nodded at Sansa’s words as if agreeing. Marisa made a face very appropriate for a kitchen maid, who had really no idea about the affairs of her betters. _Almost too appropriate._

“Kia,” Sansa ordered. “Please fetch something to eat from the kitchen. These men had a long journey and I want to give them at least a semblance of Winterfell’s hospitality. Podrick, please accompany her. I don’t think I am in danger here.” _It is a risk to send them, Littlefinger or one of his spies will probably notice, but if I’m lucky, they all just want a place here in Winterfell and we can use the fighters._ When Marisa moved as if to accompany them, Sansa smiled at her and bid her stay to give the guests something to drink, and the girl took some of the glasses that were in a cupboard in the solar for this very purpose and poured some drinks. She hid it well, but her look had a hint of sullenness.

“Take a seat,” she invited the men, “and tell me, what you want.”

When they had sat down, it was Thoros who took the lead. “Do you believe in the Gods, Lady Sansa?” he asked.

Sansa felt like he had hit her. What had her belief in the Gods to do with the reason for them being here? She opted for honesty. “My mother taught me to believe in the seven, but they never helped me and I don’t pray to them any longer. As for the Old Gods, I don’t know. When I sit at the weirwood, I sometimes have the feeling, that someone is listening.” Thoros looked at her questioningly, as if he wanted her to continue. “As for your God. I met a priestess of Rh’llor and I had evidence for her power, but I didn’t like her very much.” She shuddered involuntarily. Thinking of Rh’llor and Mellisandre had awoken a question in her mind, she did not like to dwell upon. _How did she resurrect Jon? Did she do something to get the strength to bring him back?_

“You know, that we look in the flames and that the Lord of Light lets us see the future or parts of the future,” Thoros said.

 “I have heard that, but I’ve also heard that the visions can be misleading.” She thought of what Ser Davos and Jon had told about Mellisandre. That she had seen victory for Stannis in her flames and had tried to force destiny by sacrificing a little girl. Only Stannis had lost the battle and his life, and victory had come to her and Jon. _And she called Jon back into live after the sacrifice._ Sansa again tried to push that particular thought away. “There was a priestess of Rh’llor with us, but King Jon banned her after it was revealed that she practiced human sacrifice.” Sansa did her best to shot a stern look at Thoros. “If you practice this sort of sacrifice to your God, you will leave the North. I won’t abide by it, and neither will my bannermen. They might be willing to kill a Frey without a trial, but they would draw a line at that, I am sure.”

Thoros raised his hands in an appeasing manner. “I don’t sacrifice humans.” Sansa’s mind was not put entirely at ease at that, but she let it lie for the moment. Kia came back with some bread, and Sansa noticed enough of the other people in the room to see that Marisa did nothing to hide her scowl. She did not trust this priest of Rh’llor that much was clear.

“So, what do you want?”, Sansa asked.

“I can see that you are quite sceptical”, Thoros sighed. “But that can’t be helped. We came because there will be a war and even if all the people of Westeros stand together, all might still be lost. The task your lord father gave us is meaningless.”

Sansa felt a cold hand clutch at her heart. “The White Walkers”, she whispered.

Thoros nodded. “Your brother will be in great danger. He is going to try to catch a Wight to convince possible allies of the threat of the Undead and he will need us.”

“That is ridiculous,” she objected. “Jon is at Dragonstone to win the support of Daenerys Targaryen. He wrote a letter, a few days ago.”

Thoros shook his head. “He was at Dragonstone. He is on his way north now, on his way to Eastwatch.” _How can that be? Why would  Jon even consider such a dangerous mission. He promised me to return!_ Sansa tried to calm herself.

“I am sure that the garrison of Eastwatch will help Jon, if he’s indeed bound there. What difference will three men make?”

It was Berric who answered. “As it happens, King Jon is singularly well suitable for a hunt after a Wight. As am I.” Sansa risked a look at Tormund who knew more about wights than anybody else and in his eyes she saw the same suspicion that had taken hold of her thoughts.

Sansa’s dread grew. Her head spun from a feeling of doom and she thought she heard Jon’s voice. _‘There was nothing, just darkness.’_ She looked questioningly at Thoros and Berric and forced the next words out of her mouth. Her voice sounded squeaky and frightened in her own ears. “Have you died, Lord Berric?”, she asked. Instead of answering Berric opened his shirt and Sansa could see that he must have been run through by a sword.

“I killed him,” the Hound said. “Ask your sister, if you don’t believe me.”

“Sandor Clegane survived a trial of Rh’llor and was proven innocent of the murder your sister accused him of. Berric died and lived again.” Thoros added. _The Hound would not claim this, if Arya had not been witness._

“What murder?”, Sansa asked avoiding the thought that burned in her brain.

“The murder of her friend, the butcher’s boy, I killed that day at the inn of the crossing.” Sansa hugged herself in an effort to get warm again. _Is this true? Was Berric resurrected by Rh’llor as Jon was?_

“Lord Berric, what is there beyond death?” Sansa asked.

Berric’s eyes seemed to bore into her soul. “Nothing, just darkness,” he answered. It was more his voice than his wording that convinced Sansa. He sounded like Jon when he had finally told her about his despair that there had been only a black abyss after death.

“And because you have been dead, you will be able to catch a Wight and it is the same for King Jon.” Her voice sounded strange in her ears. Berric and Thoros nodded solemnly.

Sansa looked at Thoros. “What did you have to do to bring him back?”, she wanted to know.

“I just prayed. My prayers never had any strength, while I was a drunkard in King Robert’s service, but then the Lord of Light brought Lord Berric back, seven times. I didn’t do anything.”

Sansa took a deep breath. “So, you don’t have to sacrifice to Rh’llor to get the strength for magic like that?”, she asked although she dreaded the answer.

Thoros frowned. “Why do you ask?”

 “The woman who resurrected Jon, she…” Sansa worked up her courage. “She sacrificed a little girl. Ever since I learned that, I wonder, if she only had the magic to bring Jon back to life, because she offered a death to Rh’llor.” _There, I said it._ Sansa felt bile in her throat, but she also felt strangely relieved that she had voiced her fears. _Maybe Thoros can lay my fears to rest._

Marisa interrupted. “That woman killed a girl to bring King Jon back?”, she asked, her voice sounding very high and somewhat familiar.

“No,” Sansa clarified. “She sacrificed Stannis’ daughter for her king’s blood to ensure Stannis’ victory, but the Boltons defeated him.” Marisa was visibly shaken, but remembered her station and didn’t say anything else. Sans turned to Thoros again. “I just wonder if there was a connection between Shireen’s death and Jon’s life. What do you say to that?”

Thoros looked at her solemnly. “What is your wish, my lady?,” he asked. “Do you want to hear the truth?”

Sansa thought for a moment, but then she nodded. _If Shireen died for Mellisandre’s magic, it is not Jon’s fault. He didn’t know about it._

“The truth is, that I do not know the answer, my lady,” Thoros told her. “The strength of the priests of Rh’llor is different. A human sacrifice might give strength indeed, but that is not necessarily so. I’ve never believed in that and still Rh’llor favoured me. But the case might be different with that priestess. I am sorry, that I cannot give you certainty. As it is, an innocent girl might have died and her death might have made it possible for your brother to live. Perhaps Rh’llor thought that Stannis’ victory was not important, but that your brother’s live was. But she was not sacrificed for King Jon’s resurrection, if I understand you correctly.”

Sansa shook her head. “No, but still...” She paused for a moment. “But I thank you for your honesty. Your God is a cruel God, if he makes such a decision.” _What would I have decided? The life of a little girl against Jon’s life. Jon must never know that there might be a connection. It would kill him, if he knew that._

“Cruelty…” Thoros mused. “Rh’llor wants to defeat the Great Other, the evil being that threatens us all. I won’t lie to you. One human is nothing for Rh’llor.”

Sansa felt tears prickling in her eyes and she could see that Marisa was still very distressed. _Whatever her connection to Arya and her intention, she does not like that anymore than I do._ “What about my brother?”, Sansa asked. “Is he just one human in Rh’llor’s plans?”

“I only see little bits. I know that your brother is important, that it is important that he catches a wight. I know that he will most certainly fail without us. And we have to reach Eastwatch in time and we have to persuade him to trust us or he will go on his own.”

“And that is where I come in, I suppose?” Sansa said. “You all want to go to Eastwatch, to join King Jon and you want me to vouch for you.” When Thoros nodded, Sansa continued. “You serve an unkind God who only cares for his victory over the Great Other who has no qualms about the humans that die for his cause. You have visions you are not sure about. You claim my brother is in danger in Eastwatch while last I’ve heard he is on Dragonstone. You want me to trust you and yet, you have nothing to offer that helps me to trust you.”

Berric gave her a tenuous smile. “That sums it up nicely, but that is not all. Thoros and me, we are going to Eastwatch, but we want you to take the Hound in.”

“Why?” Sansa looked at the Hound. _It would be nice to have someone I could trust to protect me_. “Jon’s bannermen will object. He was a Lannister man _._ And my sister will object as well,” she added as an afterthought.

The Hound cleared his throat. “According to Thoros you, and your sister, both, will also be in danger.”

Sansa scoffed. “That is nothing new. I still don’t know, if I can believe you. Tormund, Podrick, what do you think?” She asked the only two people in the room, she could trust. Podrick was flustered as usual and only said something to the effect, that Lady Sansa surely would decide wisely. Tormund thought, that it would be like Jon to go on ‘crack-brained’ hunt North of the wall, and that they probably should use this fiery ‘fucking’ God as an ally, to beat magic with magic. That made sense, but it would mean to trust Thoros’ visions. Sansa was at a loss.

It was the freckled girl, Kia, who made a sensible suggestion. Sansa saw her twitching around, while the Marisa was silent and still very much distressed, more than the situation allowed for. Sansa asked for Kia’s opinion. The girl blushed, when her Lady addressed her. “If King Jon really is on his way to Eastwatch, he will inform you about that, Lady Sansa.”, she said. “You could wait until His Grace sends the next raven and you are certain that this man speaks the truth.”  _Yes, of course. Even if Jon knows, I would object to such a hare-brained plan, he would tell me about it. He trusts me, even if we don’t agree. He would never do a journey like that without informing me._

“Thank you, Kia,” Sansa said and smiled at her. “That is an excellent point.” She stood. “I will grant you the traditional three days of hospitality. You can stay here as guests, who are on their way to join the Night’s watch. If I have heard from the King within these three days, I will vouch for you and send you on to Eastwatch. The Hound can stay, but only if my sister agrees. I am willing to confront our bannermen for a man I know to be a good fighter and who has saved my life, but I don’t want a fight with my sister.” _Not another one, at least, but no need to tell them that._

“I hope that we hear from King Jon, but would you let us leave for the Wall, even if you don’t trust us?” Thoros asked.

“I would hinder no man to join the Night’s watch.” Sansa answered.


	15. Of scars and tears

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Finally, the sisters have a much needed talk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was up to my neck in work, but I managed to finish another chapter. I hope you like it. After I publish a chapter I usually get some kudos and I really, really like that. It must mean that some people like my fic. But please don't hesitate to comment and tell me what you like or if you think my Sansa, Arya or Jon are out of character.  
> I guess, I should add Gendrya as a minor ship to my tags.

Arya’s head was reeling. Sansa finally had dismissed Kia and her and sent them to the kitchen to get something to eat. Marisa had excused herself to go home and now Arya sat in a quiet corner in the stables, trying to get order into her thoughts.

_A red priestess killed a little girl… Was she the same that took Gendry from the brotherhood? She was after king’s blood as well. Was she with Stannis?_

Arya could not remember if the Red Woman she had met in the Riverlands had talked about an allegiance to Stannis, or any allegiance. She just knew that even in her worst nightmares she had not imagined that Gendry might be dead, that he had ended as a sacrifice to the God Rh’llor. _What is the chance of there being several red priestesses in Westeros?_ _If she is the same…? That thick-headed bull! I hope, he is alive!_

She wanted to strangle Thoros again for giving up Gendry to that woman. _But, what if Jon needs him?_ Thoros had not known she was Marisa. He had sounded genuine and Arya had good reason to believe in the fiery God’s power. She had seen Berric resurrected. _What shall I do?_

She wished that somebody was here she could trust and ask about her dilemma. But there was only Sansa. And Sansa had helped the Frey, Sansa conspired to marry her off to their cousin in the Vale. _But that might not be important any longer, when the White Walkers come. Sansa always talks about how important that is. And she said nothing of that wedding plan to me. Yet, she wants to ask me, if we can take the Hound in._

Arya just didn’t know what to think any longer. She thought, she was staring at an intricate pattern of embroidery, like the ones, Sansa used to make, and her eyes would follow one thread, just to take a wrong turn. She had never managed to imitate the interweaving patterns, Sansa meticulously arranged. Kia thought, that Littlefinger was to blame, but Littlefinger had not known that Arya had listened in to his plans to wed her to Robin Arryn. Sansa had not talked about the plans. _Jon is in danger… Gendry might be dead…. Sansa wants to ask me…_

Arya stood up, abruptly. She would have to walk to get her thoughts sorted. She might as well appear as Arya again and at least diffuse the fears of all the people who were looking for her.

Walking helped a little. The actual movement let her thoughts calm down. The first person she ran into was Maester Wolkan. The Maester had learned too well to hide his opinions while serving the Boltons, Arya thought, but usually he was nice and polite enough. But he was very different from kind and yet stern Maester Luwin. Wolkan gave a short bow.

“Lady Arya,” he looked at her with unreadable eyes. “There was a raven from His Grace, here is a letter for both his sisters.”

Arya practically snatched the letter from his hands. Now she would learn what Jon had to say about Littlefinger’s and Sansa’s ridiculous wedding plans. He would forbid that nonsense and Sansa would have to abide by the king’s wishes.

 _Dear Arya,_ she read.

_I cannot find any words to tell you how happy I am that you are alive, well and at home. It is such a relief that I know that another Stark returned home. I sincerely hope, that Bran is not lost as well and will come home as well. I am glad your needlework has improved. Use it well to protect Sansa. Stick together no matter what. Winter is upon us and I fear for the North and all of us. Stay safe and sound!_

And that was it! Jon hadn’t written another line to her, nothing about the marriage plans, nothing about Sansa having let go that Frey. Jon had written to Sansa after that, far longer.

She looked up at Maester Wolkan. “When did this arrive?”, she asked.

“Just now,” he answered.

“Jon doesn’t say anything about the letter, I wrote him.” Arya eyed the maester suspisciously. “You did send that letter, didn’t you?”

The maester nodded. “Of course, I did.” He managed to sound timid even defending himself. “You only sent that letter yesterday. It is highly likely, that the King wrote this letter before your letter arrived.”

Arya’s heart plummeted. She had been so sure, that Jon’s letter would help her! Maester Wolkan excused himself and mumbled something about calling off the search for her. Arya’s blood constantly rushed in her ears and she barely heard him.

She took to walking about again, Jon’s letter in her hands. Arya was trying to decide if she should read the part of the letter that was addressed to Sansa. She had read what Sansa had written about the Frey before she herself had added her own lines, but Sansa had given her that letter. Finally, her curiosity got the better of her and she sat down to read that part of the letter.

_Dear Sansa,_

_the Tyrells have been beaten in the field by Jaime Lannister and Euron, styling himself king of the Iron Islands, apparently took Yara, Theon’s sister, captive. Even dragons cannot ensure an easy conquest of the South it seems. I stole into Queen Daenerys’ war council with the help of Brienne and the situation looks grim. We decided on a strategy that is daring, if you put it mildly, but lacking your counsel I had no other idea that would give us a chance at securing an alliance of all factions against the White Walkers. It means splitting up our meagre numbers and it means I have to trust Tyrion at least to some extent. Davos will take to smuggling again and will hopefully obtain something from King’s Landing that would be of great help. Brienne will use her connections to Jaime Lannister to arrange a meeting. She is convinced that the Kingslayer will see the wisdom of an alliance, if we provide prove for the threat from the North. She is also adamant, that the Kingslayer did not know about Tywin’s and Walder Frey’s plans. Queen Daenerys finally wants to use her dragons and show the Lannister party that they have to reckon with the beasts, making them more perceptive to peace negotiations, hopefully. I insisted that we will not agree to peace talks with Cersei, but that I would negotiate with Jaime in the presence of Tyrion. Theon will try to free his sister. My task is to provide the proof for the White Walkers. I will be going to Eastwatch come the morning and try to capture a wight. If my experience from Castle Black is anything to go by, I might be able to ensure that the creature will be alive enough to provide proof._

_This probably sounds all crackbrained to you and I can almost hear you say that I should not risk myself at such a foolish enterprise, but I’m sure that this is the fastest way to get an alliance of the living. I don’t know if I can make you understand, but I have to believe that even someone like Jaime Lannister is not past redemption. If we all get what we deserve nobody but a few would survive the Others and I would not be among them. At least, the alliance with Queen Daenerys should be on a solid base by now and it will hold at the least as long as Tyrion is there to ensure it. I would rather come home to Winterfell and sit by the fire with you and wait for the storm to pass us. But our chances would be very slim indeed and I am well aware of my duty to the North, to you and to our remaining family. I would like to pray like I did so naturally as a child. Maybe the Gods will still answer to my prayers to keep you safe, so that I can lay eyes on you again when I finally come home to Winterfell. I hope that all is well between Arya and you. I had a dreadful dream of you two fighting. Jon_

Arya shook her head. _Crackbrained indeed!_ Jon had crushed the letters on the parchment, so that all he had to say fitted onto it and still he had written so many sentences to explain himself to Sansa. _Why is this so important to him?_ Arya at least did not understand at all. To try for an alliance of all Westeros might be noble idea but she doubted that it would come to pass. _He is as crazy as Sansa with that Frey if he honestly believes that Jaime Lannister has a shred of honour left!_ It almost sounded as if Jon wanted a chance for Jaime Lannister because he thought he himself was as bad as the Kingslayer. _How did he ever get that idea, and why?_

Still, Jon was going to Eastwatch and Arya felt like a cold hand had brushed her neck. Thoros had seen Jon’s need and if she would go and show the letter to Sansa, her sister would insist on sending Thoros to Eastwatch as a help for Jon. There would be no justice for Gendry. But if she would not give the letter to Sansa Jon might not have help that he needed.

Arya’s reeling thoughts were interrupted by Tormund who found her in the corner where she sat. “Here you are, little she-wolf.” He said. His voice was deep and rumbling, but not unkind. The big wildling seemed to be fond of everyone who would spar with him. “Lady Sansa wants to see you.”

Hastily Arya stood and crammed the letter in her pouch. She had not made up her mind yet, but there was no way to avoid Sansa now. Tormund led her to Sansa’s chamber. Podrick stood watch at the door and he was not friendly at all. He frowned at Arya and shot her a look that was full of mistrust. “Lady Sansa cannot see her sister now,” he said. “She is taking a bath and bade me not to let anybody enter.”

Tormund laughed. “I’m sure she did not mean her sister. They have to talk, these two, or the she-wolf will vanish again and I for my part am fed up with hunting her.”

And the wildling just opened the door before Podrick could hinder him and physically shoved Arya inside.

She squealed indignantly when she was manhandled like that, but her scream was drowned by Sansa’s who had just stepped out of the bathtub and was completely naked. Sansa turned her back to Arya and jumped to a cloth to wrap herself, but not before Arya had seen her back. Sansa’s back was webbed with scars, some of them still in angry red, others pale white. There was no pattern in it other than a testimony of torture and knife wounds deliberately placed one across the other. Arya’s squealing had stopped and her breath left her.

When Sansa turned again, cloth wrapped around her with an annoyed expression on her face, Arya did hardly notice it. At the back of her eyes she could still see the pattern of scars and although they did not look like an embroidery at all, finally Arya had the feeling that she could follow the lines and understand the meaning.

“He did that. Ramsay did that,” she said, when she finally caught her breath again.

Sansa’s scowl left her face and her face looked more relaxed, even if a little wary. She nodded.

“Littlefinger sold you to him.” Arya whispered. And then she burst into tears. “Littlefinger sold you to him,” she repeated. “You wouldn’t marry that pimp, would you? And you wouldn’t sell me to him or to the Lord of the Vale?” By now she was sobbing so violently that she could hardly understand her own words. “He’s just running around and tells everybody that he’ll marry you until everybody will just believe it.” _How stupid I was! Littlefinger did not try to set me up, but he wanted to set up Lord Royce and I just fell for it._

Sansa had stepped to Arya. “How did you ever get the idea, that I would marry Littlefinger? I told you, I don’t want to marry,” she said.

Arya sobbed again and thankfully Sansa didn’t expect an answer right away. She wrapped her arms around Arya and stroked her hair, but before long Sansa was crying alongside her sister.

They were interrupted by Podrick’s knock on the door who was alarmed at the noise, but Sansa told him to fetch something to eat and that everything was alright.

And finally, finally, everything was if not alright, but better. When Arya had run out of tears and her breathing had returned to normal, Arya told Sansa about the conversation between Littlefinger and Lord Royce she had overheard.

Sansa was furious. “That’s why Lord Royce made all these stupid remarks about my running of Winterfell!” she exclaimed. She was pacing back and forth. “How stupid of me!”, she exclaimed again. “I thought I would notice any machination of that double-dealing liar! He must have realised that you listened in and took the opportunity to sow mistrust!”

Arya shook her head. “He can’t have noticed me. I think he just wanted to convince Lord Royce. And he just took the chance to further muddy the waters when he realised we were at odds about that Frey.” She sighed. “Kia was right, he just likes to meddle around.”

Sansa shot her a look. “Kia?”, she asked. “The serving girl?” Sansa narrowed her eyes and scrutinized Arya’s dress. “Did you swap dresses with Marisa?”, she asked.

Arya looked at her own clothes, aghast. She was still dressed in Marisa’s dress! She really was a mess of a faceless woman to make a mistake like that! She could not help herself. “Leave it to you to notice my dress,” she said, a giggle bursting out of her mouth.

Arya could see that Sansa was at a loss and she took her sister’s hand. “I will tell you a secret, but you must not tell anybody else. I hope it will give us an edge concerning Littlefinger and his machinations.” Jon was right, they had to stick together. How stupid of her not to have asked Sansa directly after she had listened in to Littlefinger’s plans.

Sansa listened, her mouth slightly opened in awe. “So, that’s how you knew where I had put Olyvar! I thought, it must have been Marisa, but I had no idea, you were Marisa.”

Podrick knocked and Sansa told him to wait a moment. She hastily unwrapped from her cloth and put on a dress. Podrick brought some bread and cheese, eying Arya suspiciously, but she ignored him and dug in hungrily. He had also brought Ghost who padded to Sansa’s side immediately.  He almost looked reproachful. Sansa petted him. “I’m so sorry, Ghost, I put you on a wild chase for Arya. No wonder, you did not find her. Look, she’s here and all is well.”

Ghost came to her and sniffed. He let his tongue loll out and it was almost as if he grinned. Arya began to pet him as well and the huge wolf sighed contentedly and placed himself between Sansa and Arya.

“So, you also know that the Hound is here.”, Sansa picked up their talk. Arya nodded.

“He can stay,” she said. “I’ve not wanted him dead for some time now. But there is something you have to know about Thoros.”

She told her sister all about the Red Woman, Thoros and Gendry and together they came to the conclusion that Arya’s Red Woman must have been the same as the one Sansa knew. Sansa was appalled that the Red Woman was so obsessed with King’s blood. “Do you think that Gendry was a bastard son of king Robert?” she asked.

Arya shrugged. “Maybe. He had a Baratheon look about him and King Robert must have had many bastards.”

“Selling him to Mellisandre put him into great danger.” Sansa said.

Arya could feel the tears coming again. She drew a long breath to calm herself. “He might have escaped, he is quite resourceful.”

“Still, Thoros must be held responsible,” Sansa put in. “But, I don’t see how we can do this, if we know nothing about the fate of this friend of yours.”

 _This friend of yours. Sansa has just accepted that a bastard of King Robert is my friend._ With this Arya took the last leap. “Before you decide anything about Thoros and Berric, there is something else you have to know.”

She took Jon’s letter from her pocket. It had crumpled. “This came today,” she said and handed it to Sansa.

Arya could have sworn that it took Sansa far too long to read that letter. She had flattened the letter and laid it on the table, her eyes scanning the lines, at least three times, Arya was sure. She tapped her feet impatiently  and wanted to hear her sister’s opinion.

“Jon must have missed our last letter. He doesn’t say anything about Olyvar Frey”. She felt herself growing pink. _Or about Sansa’s alleged wedding plans._ Thinking about her letter now, she was mortified. If Jon ever got to read it, he must think her so stupid. _Hopefully, he won’t read it. He is on his way to Eastwatch by now._ “Still, reading him going on about how Jaime Lannister deserves a chance I dare say, Jon would agree to your lenience with that Frey….” Arya looked at the silent wolf between them. “As Ghost did.”

Sansa carefully put the letter down. Arya thought she saw Sansa’s eyes glistening in the light of the fire. “That means, that Thoros had a true vision and Jon is in great danger. O Gods help us all.”


	16. North of the Wall

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon goes north of the wall on his mission to get proof for the threat of the Undead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This takes place several weeks after the last chapter. Jon has reached Eastwatch. I wanted to do a Davos and Brienne chapter for their missions, but I also want this fic to be ready before season 7. I might squeeze Brienne and Davos in at another time. It is not really that important, because we will learn how their missions went in good while.   
> I love comments and I almost always answer!

Jon flexed his fingers in his new gloves.  It was just a habit he had adopted when his hand had been burnt in the fight with the wight that had been after Lord Commander Mormont. His fingers were warm and comfortable. The gloves were perfect and they had direwolves stitched on them. _They probably were half finished already when Thoros and Beric came to Winterfell. There is absolutely no way Sansa sewed such perfect gloves within two days._

Jon threw a guarded glance at his companions. He had been surprised when his ship had docked at Eastwatch that Cotter Pyke knew already about his arrival. The gruff and uncouth castellan of Eastwatch was grumbling about an excursion north of the wall, that would put the King in the North in danger as well as some of his own men, but Jon had had no need to convince him. Jon had been prepared for long arguments, that he had thought about on his journey, but as it happened, Cotter Pyke had been under constant pressure from two people Jon had never met and yet somehow were his allies in his endeavour.

Jon would never have trusted two strangers on such a mission, certainly not a priest of Rh’llor, but Thoros and Beric were accompanied by a letter of Sansa’s and the gloves. The letter had obviously been written in haste. Sansa had written three times, that he should be very careful and not risk his life. She had not told him, that she disagreed with him, which came as a relief, but her worry was blatantly obvious. She had written, that she had reason to believe that Thoros’ visions had a grain of truth and that Beric had tried to fulfil their father’s order even after he had been beheaded because of his firm belief in justice. Strangely, Sansa had only added that Arya sent her regards and wished him well, and Arya herself had not added anything. Jon was puzzled by that, but the letter had such a hurried ring to it, that he was not worried. On his way to Eastwatch his troubled dreams about his sisters’ quarrelling had calmed down, although he still sometimes had the feeling that he walked the corridors of Winterfell, sometimes at Arya’s side, sometimes at Sansa’s looking up at them through Ghost’s eyes. His dreams about Sansa were as vivid as ever, but he had almost resigned himself to the idea that he would never reach the foremost purpose of his journey. He would not forget about his doomed love for his sister, simply because he did not see her.

Now, he, Thoros and Beric and two very uneasy men from Eastwatch made for the other side of the wall. Each of the men had Northern bearpaws under their shoes and they pulled a sled. They had brought heavy chains to constrain the wight they hoped to catch. It was morning, and they rehearsed their plans.

“The wights might not be active until after dark this close to the wall, and if we are lucky, we find some of those blue-eyed monsters during the day,” Jon said.

“Why do you think, they might not be active during the day?” Beric asked.

“The wights we took with us to Castle Black only raised in the night. I suspect, that the chance to find an active wight during the day grows the further we are from the wall. The White Walkers had no trouble to arise people at Hardhome. But I think, that they cannot pass the wall unless brought over, or invited, so to say.” Jon explained. The black brothers from Eastwatch Jon had never met before looked decidedly uneasy.

“The magic of the wall runs thin. I can feel, that”, Thoros said. “We’d best stay alert even during the day.”

Jon snorted. “I certainly did not want to suggest this is a nice outing in the snow.”

“It’s not much below freezing. If we are lucky, we won’t meet any of the White Walkers,” one of the black brothers put in. Dickon, if Jon remembered correctly.

“We have dragonglass,” Jon put in. They all had quivers with arrows tipped with dragonglass as well as normal arrows, an obsidian knife and axes. Cotter Pyke had insisted that axes were the best against the wights, because with an axe they could hack until the pieces of the wights moved no more. Since Jon’s last letter to Eastwatch as Lord Commander they had had some run-ins with wights. Jon had Longclaw. Still, he somehow felt ill equipped and he reminded himself that he had reasons for this hunt. _I want Sansa and Arya to be safe, I want the North to be safe. What kind of king would I be if I would not look out for their safety. And dragons are our best chance. If we get an alliance with the West as well, it will be worth this risk._ His thoughts went to Brienne and Davos whose missions was only a little less risky than his own.

“So, we try our luck and if we find a corpse with the tell-tale signs, we just grab it and make for the wall again. In and out”. Jon knew he had outlined the best possible scenario. He thought that it was unlikely, but he wanted to cheer up the black brothers.

“And what, if we don’t find a corpse by midday?” Sam asked. He had the same name, but he didn’t look much like Jon’s friend Samwell Tarley. He was small and skinny and Jon had dubbed him Sam the carrot in his head, because he had a mob of orange hair.

“Then we will slowly return to the wall, and we’ll divide our group. Hopefully, we will lure just a few wights to follow us, so that we can trap one.” Beric said.

Sam shuddered. “Wouldn’t it be better, if we stayed together?” he asked.

Jon shook his head. “These wights do not truly act like living men, but they remember some of the things they knew as humans. And if they are few, they might go against two or three, but they probably will attack only if they are in the majority.”

Jon tried to sound more confident than he felt. He was just guessing from the behaviour of the wights he had seen at Castle Black and at Hardhome.

“And if they are in the majority? What if there are White Walkers?” the Carrot asked. Cotter Pyke had recommended him because of his archery skill, seemingly not because of his courage.

“We have the dragonglass and the arrows, I have a blade of Valyrian steal.” Jon tried not so sound exasperated. “We have been through this already.” He knew that his own tightness made him likely to lose his temper and he softened his voice.

“Additionally, Dickon and you will go with Thoros. Thoros is a priest of Rh’llor. He will handle fire, if we need it.”

Thoros nodded to this, and the Carrot looked at the priest. “Does that mean that they can’t turn you into a wight?”

Thoros looked at the boy with an earnest expression. “There is plenty to fear, boy, but don’t fear. If it comes to that I’ll take care that you are burned and can’t turn on your brothers as a wight.”

Jon felt ashamed that he had misinterpreted the lad’s fear, but still he noted that Thoros had not confirmed the lad’s belief that he was untouchable. He was not sure that he liked Thoros to gloss over this, but he refrained from asking the obvious question, so that he would not add to the fear of the men. _What will happen, if you can’t burn us, before we are turned? You might die yourself._

The rest of the morning went by in futile attempts to find a corpse. Dickon and Sam were eager to find one, and they alerted the others several times when they thought they saw something. Jon regretted that they had not been able to bring hounds. But Cotter Pyke had told him, that no dog had been willing to go beyond the wall for several months now.

At one time, when the two black brothers had run forward again, he took the opportunity to inquire about Thoros’ immunity as a priest of Rh’llor.

“Sansa told me, that you are well equipped for this task. What did she mean? Does the lad have it right? Won’t the White Walkers be able to turn you into a wight?” he asked.

Thoros looked at him and answered in the same soft voice, Jon had used, so it would not carry all the way to the black brothers who were digging in the snow. “I think it is possible, that my God might spare me that fate, your Grace, but his strength might be weakened in this land of ice. I cannot answer that question. I think, it is more likely, that Beric and you are beyond the reach of the Walkers’ magic.”

“How so?” Jon asked.

“You have been dead, your Grace, really dead. That must make a difference.” Thoros said.

“Do you think, that they could not return my body?”, he asked.

Thoros nodded. “Even more, I think, it might be possible that you can slip past their awareness. That’s why I suggested, it must be you and Beric in one group, if we split up. Our living bodies might draw them, and they might just not notice you and Beric.”

“So, that’s what Sansa meant.” Jon stopped in his tracks. “Beric has been dead as well?” He had noticed that the knight had been wounded several times, but it was only now, that he came to the right conclusions. He felt his anger rise and at the same time he felt confused. _Did Sansa know? Or did she not think about my resurrection as much as I did? I never told her about my suspicions._

“Who did you sacrifice to bring him back?”, he hissed at the priest.

“Nobody,” Thoros answered.

Jon locked his gaze at the priest. “I find it hard to believe that,” he said. “The woman who brought me back sacrificed a little innocent girl. It was not to bring me back, but to collect power, I think.” He shook his head. “She herself said, that she should not have been able to do it. And when I learned, that she had killed that girl…” His voice trailed off. _I didn’t know, I could not have prevented Shireen’s death._

“I can only say the same thing I told your sister, when she asked the very same question.”, Thoros said. “I don’t know if Mellisandre needed the sacrifice to bring you back, I can only say, that I had no need to sacrifice anything for Beric’s return and that the Lord of Light never asked that kind of service from me.”

_Sansa. She had the same thought as me. What did she make of that?_

“Before we left Winterfell, your sister also told me not to bring Shireen up on my own. I find it interesting, that you ask that question. Many other men would not want to know or would not even want to admit that they even thought about the possibility. And there would be some who would gladly sacrifice others, even little girls if it would mean their own life. You almost make me believe, that there is such a thing as a good king, your Grace.” Thoros smiled and Jon realised that the smile reached as far as his eyes.

“I don’t really know much about being a good king,” he said. “And Sansa really told you not to mention it? Why?”

“I assume, your sister doesn’t want you to bewail a death you could have done nothing about.” Thoros said.

Jon looked away fast, he didn’t want Thoros to see how touched he was. _Sansa is so observant and kind. She thinks about me._ His heart beat faster.

He looked at the sky. _I shouldn’t think about what this might mean. Of course, she loves me. Of course, she cares. I’m her brother._

“I think, we should return.” He waved to the others and gave short instructions on how to proceed. Thoros and the black brother would carry torches once dark would settle in and Beric and he would trail behind. Jon could see that the black brothers were unhappy.

“We slowly proceed towards the wall. Dickon and Sam, you’ll stick to Thoros. Beric and I trail behind, and hopefully we can bait some Wights to show themselves. In this snow, there could be corpses anywhere. If we don’t catch anything, we will return to Eastwatch and start again in two days. We must stay alert, and it’s best if we don’t risk too much.”

_That was not very inspirational._ As motivating speeches went, this was not the best, Jon had ever managed, but everybody nodded and Beric and Jon stayed behind.

They kept silent for some time and Jon wondered if he could ask Beric about his own experience after death. It was still light and Jon didn’t expect an attack before it was full dark. He thought about what Sansa had said to him. _Your soul didn’t die._ The sun was nearing the horizon, and the wall looked very near, but Jon knew from experience, that the sheer height of the wall could trick the eye.

“What did you see?”, he finally asked. “How did you feel when you came back?”

“I suppose, I felt the same you did.” Beric answered. “Nothing.”

Jon suppressed a shudder. He deliberately remembered the warm chamber at Winterfell, Sansa’s laugh, when she told him, that he was just the one example. That he should not draw conclusions form one example.

“But if there is nothing, how did your soul or my soul continue? Why did my soul come back, if it had stopped to exist?” Jon wanted to know.

“Did your soul come back, your Grace?”, Beric asked. “Are you the same man you were before?” His one eye scrutinized him and Jon felt like it looked right at the bottom of his heart. For just a moment he felt slightly feverish and there was a faint smell in his nose that reminded him of Sansa’s perfume. Unbidden, a thought of Ghost came to his mind. He was pressed against Sansa and he thought he could imagine her touch on Ghost’s fur.

Jon shook his head as if to clear it. “I’m not sure,” he admitted. “I wonder, if the man I was would feel the same things I do.”

Beric’s gaze still tugged at his soul and his heart somehow beat erratically.

“But, you still feel,” Beric said.

Jon nodded. “But I don’t feel like I should feel.”

Jon closed his eyes and pictured the chamber in Winterfell, the hearth, Sansa’s laugh, her warm hands. He didn’t know what came over him, but here in the vastness of snow and ice, blinking and glittering in the setting sun, he gave voice to his tortured feelings. “I love my sister Sansa.”

Beric didn’t answer and Jon did not know why he felt obliged to clarify: “I love her more than anything in my life. I don’t love her like my sister, I love her like a woman. I should not, but I do. I fled her presence, but my feelings are still the same. I am a man without honour.”

Beric still looked at him intensely. “Your grace,” he said finally. “You are lucky to have feelings.” He shrugged. “I don’t remember how to feel. I envy you your love.”

Jon gave a short bark. “I’d gladly give you some of my torment.”

“Don’t say that!” Beric said. “If you would not feel torment, you would not feel love. Your sister is a beautiful and kind woman, and I can see that it would be easy to love her. You give me hope. If you’re capable of love, it must mean that at least your soul is still here with you.”

“I would not have expected an answer like that.” Jon said.

“What did you think? That I would be abhorred at your confession? If I understood you correctly, you haven’t actually done anything dishonourable.” Beric said.

Jon nodded.

“I told you, I don’t really have feelings anymore. I don’t feel abhorrence. To me, your love means nothing. What you do has meaning. As far as I see it, you are here in the wilderness, baiting monsters to save the world. I won’t judge you because of some feelings.”

Jon felt oddly comforted. _I can’t do anything about my love and leaving Winterfell has not helped me. But I have a choice in what I do. Maybe it’s not too dishonourable if I just think about Sansa. I can’t help myself anyway. I’ll just be happy that a person like her exists in this world._

For the first time in weeks, he deliberately tried to remember Sansa speaking, Sansa laughing, Sansa sitting comfortably beside him and he felt no guilt. His imagination was so vivid, that he did not realize at first, that the sun had set. Thoros and the black brothers had lighted fires and soon he and Beric had only the torches as a guide in the darkness. Jon came back to reality with a sense of dread. It was getting colder and he could not say if it was just nightfall or the enemies they feared. He shuddered.


	17. The chest

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arya and Sansa band together to find evidence to use against Littlefinger

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is exactly the same day as the Jon chapter before that. Just in case, you might get the feeling that Sansa and Jon think of each other.

Arya urged Kia to come along and hurry. “We have to be at Lady Sansa’s door at the right moment.” She looked at the freckled girl who had become her friend in the last weeks and saw worry in her eyes.

She lightly touched her shoulder in reassurance, not letting go of the tiny mouse in her hand.

“All will go well,“ she said. She was not really afraid, that Kia would have second thoughts about participating in her attempt to finally get a hold on some evidence against Lord Baelish, but she was concerned, that the slimy lord might realise that something was amiss.

The cat in Kia’s arms was hissing, but the girl had her well in hand and nodded resolutely.

“Your plan is good, Marisa, and this spitting monster will serve us well, I don’t doubt it. I’m just troubled that it will involve Lady Sansa all on her own with that man,” Kia said. She raised her eyes and looked intensely at her friend and fellow servant Marisa.

“Lady Sansa will manage, and we agreed that Baelish being alone with Lady Sansa, is the best way to prevent him from walking in on us searching his rooms.” Arya said. “When we have found a way to open that chest, we alert Lady Arya and she’ll come to her rescue.” She bit her lip. She really had to work on her role as Marisa. Since she had reconciled with Sansa, it was so much harder to slip into another’s face. It worried her a little bit.

Kia nodded again. “We’ll just have to hurry.”

Arya felt ashamed, that she had not let Kia in on the secret of her being able to change faces. But Sansa and she had agreed, that they would hold that secret very close. Arya was sure, that the Faceless men would not like her at all to go about and tell their secret. And Sansa was afraid, that they would protect their secret and kill Arya. That was the reason, why Kia knew that Marisa and her were to help Lady Sansa and Lady Arya convict Lord Baelish of some crime. Kia had been keen on helping against Lord Baelish, whom she disliked intensely. Kia was convinced that they would find something and Sansa had insisted that it was essential that they find something against the scheming Lord Protector of the Vale. Sansa wanted a trial, so that bringing down Littlefinger would not put their allegiance with the Vale into peril.

Arya and Kia peeked around the corner and saw Podrick at Sansa’s door. He caught sight of them and waved with his left hand and showed them the nuts that were in his fingers. Arya placed herself just at the corner and Kia went back some steps, still holding on to the cat.

Arya could hear approaching steps and her heart beat faster and she held her breath. She raised her hand and held a finger to her lips. Somehow Kia had managed to calm the cat. Her hissing had stopped.

Now she heard Lord Baelish’s voice who talked with Podrick.

“I will announce you to the Lady Sansa,” the squire said and knocked at the door, letting the nuts fall at the same moment as his knuckle hit the door. Arya had crouched down and released the mouse, that immediately ran away in the direction Arya wanted her to go, aiming for Littlefinger’s feet. Kia sprinted around the corner and released the cat.

The cat deftly avoided Littlefinger’s feet, the mouse squealed and Arya and Kia came around the corner, shouting “Cersei!, Cersei!” at the cat.

The door opened, and Sansa stood in the door, Kia ran into Littlefinger and managed to knock him over, the cat hissed and Podrick played his role equally well, making a show of trying to help catch the cat. Littlefinger had just risen, when Podrick made him fall a second time. The Lord Protector was not amused and in his ire he lashed out at the first available person, which was Arya and hit her full in the face.

For the blink of an eye, Arya forgot that she played a role, when she heard a scream. Had it been her own or Sansa’s? Her head was reeling, but fortunately Marisa’s face held and Marisa, the servant girl dropped into a deep curtsey, fiddling with her skirts.

“M’lord, I am so sorry, Cersei escaped us. We just wanted to catch Cersei.” She clumsily reached out with her right hand, to beat at Littlefinger’s cloak as if to remove dust. Littlefinger shoved her hand away.

“Don’t you touch me, your hands are dirty.” His usual demeanour was ruffled and replaced by an angry frown that would have intimidated most servants. Kia gave a small very convincing squeal.

Sansa stood calm and collected. She arched an eybrow. “Cersei?”, she asked.

Marisa curtsied again. “Yes, m’lady. No offence m’lady, but that monster is a feisty one, so we named her Cersei.”

Kia had managed to catch the cat and now squealed in earnest, when the animal extended its claws.

Sansa gave a low chuckle. “I wish I could handle the real Cersei like you did that cat,” she said. She looked Marisa in the eye.

“Are you hurt, girl?” she asked.

“Not at all, M’lady,” Marisa answered, just like they had agreed. She laid her right hand on her burning cheek.

Lady Sansa scowled at Lord Baelish. “You should know better than to lash at servants, Lord Baelish.”

The Lord bowed. “I apologize, Lady Sansa, I can only ask your forgiveness, that Cersei drew out the worst of my temper.”

“Under this circumstance, your lack of self control might be excused.” Sansa said.

“Come in, Lord Baelish,” she added and stepped aside, so that he could enter. Her face gave nothing away, but Arya thought that Sansa blinked once too often, when she looked at Arya’s cheek. Just before Littlefinger entered, he turned, just so that Sansa could not see his face. “Off with you,” he shooed them away, his voice friendly, but his face frowning and his teeth bared. Podrick entered after the Lord Protector.

The moment the door was closed, Kia and Arya released the cat and started to run. There was not much time, they would need every minute.

On their way, they met the Hound who was on his way to get Podrick. Littlefinger would be alone with Sansa in her solar, and would be too preoccupied to notice that his keyring was missing, and the two servant girls would be busy cleaning the Lord Protector’s room.

Kia and Arya entered Lord Baelish’s room, after the soldier standing watch had led them in. Kia busied herself with dusting, while Arya went straight for the chest. It was of dark wood with intricate metalwork that almost looked like someone hat fitted the chest into laces. On top of the chest was a lock with a large keyhole. She fiddled with the key ring. There was a long key, that looked just like he would fit into the big lock on top of the chest. She put the key and tried to turn it gingerly, but although the key turned it was no use. Nothing clicked open and Arya had the feeling that the key just spun in the keyhole and that no spring was moved aside. But all the other keys were to small and Arya was nearly frustrated enough to try to open the chest with force. But that would be no use. Sansa was sure, that Littelfinger would have some proof for his machinations in this chest and she had told Arya, that she had once came across Littlefinger stowing away papers into the chest and closing the lid.

Arya stood up and drew a deep breath. She closed her eyes and remembered her time in the house of black and white, when she had been no one. She shut out her sight deliberately, knelt and let her fingers do the work of exploring the chest. There was the big lock and she put her right pinky into the keyhole and felt gingerly for the pin that had to give way, so that the chest would open. She felt deliberately and cautiously inside the keyhole, but she found nothing. _But there has to be something._

Arya let her fingers trail over the chest and felt every inch of it, her eyes still closed. The intricate metal fittings felt cool and smooth under her finger tips. If she had not been feeling so slowly she might have missed the tiny irregularity that caught her fingernail for just a moment. She felt the surface again and when her fingernail was caught again, she opened her eyes. She looked closely at the chest. The metalwork was just a bit strange at the place where her finger had stopped. It looked as if one of the fittings had gone lose and when Arya looked even closer, she could see that the metalwork could be slipped aside. There was a tiny hole under the metal and Arya closed her eyes again and felt for the hole. _There! That is the keyhole, the other’s just a fraud!_

Soon, Arya found the tiny key, that would fit into the small hole, and when she turned the key there was an audible click. _What a clever device._

She opened the chest gingerly, all the way looking for traps or other precautionary devices. She snatched at the tiny hair that fell to the floor that had been stuck at the frame of the lid. She would put that back again. She had a close look at the contents of the chest and began unpacking. There were several very thin books. She opened one of them and saw that dates were drawn on the front. She frowned. It would be far too suspicious to take one of the newer ones, she decided to take a book, that had a date of about 20 years ago, if Arya had it right. Sansa would decide if they would need other books as well. At the bottom of the chest there was something put into cloth that Marisa, the servant girl, did not know, but that had Arya’s heart pounding. It was a dagger, but you could see that it was good quality. She unsheathed it and began to feel dizzy. She remembered a day in king’s landing, the black brother Yoren in her father’s chamber, and her younger self confused and tired, after she had been brought back to her father, the Hand of the King. She had lost her way in the city and she had overheard strange conversations.

 _Why is the dagger that was on my father’s desk on that day in Littlefinger’s chest. Did he steal it? Had Littlefinger’s hand been in the execution of her father?_ Quickly Arya put some sticks into the cloth in place of the dagger, so that it looked on first sight like the bundle it had been before. She decided to take the book with the earliest date. She piled the books as she had found them, swapping the book she took for a piece of wood of approximately the same width. It was only after she had piled everything in the way it had been before, that she quietly closed the lid. And it was not a moment too early. The guard had opened the door and wanted to know when they were ready. Kia had positioned herself between Arya and the guard and they managed to leave the room without incident, Arya’s heart pounding wildly.

After they had left Littlefinger’s room, Kia took the things from the chest and urged Arya to fetch ‘Lady Arya’. Arya ran to her chambers, changed her clothes to the nice trousers, Sansa had made for her and rushed off to Sansa’s chamber, boldly taking a bundle with her that contained the thin book and the dagger.

Just outside Sansa’s door she met Ghost who had his nose at the door and looked like he was very worried. Ghost’s eerie silence had her heart beating in worry. But to have Ghost with her was very good. Littlefinger was wary of the beast and her task to put the key in his place again would be easier with the direwolf as a distraction. She knocked and soon heard Sansa bid her enter, in a voice that sounded a bit higher than usual.

Arya led Ghost lose when she entered and the direwolf ran to Sansa’s side. Littlefinger who had been standing real close to her sister, was taken aback and stepped back a stride and bumped into her. His face almost slipped into the fury she had seen when she wore Marisa’s face. But this time, Littlefinger managed to rein himself in before he lashed out, when he realised that she was the noble Lady Arya and not some servant girl. Arya hated him for it, but she took the opportunity to slip the key back into his pocket.

“Sansa, I swear, you absolutely spoiled Ghost. He doesn’t listen to anything I say and he deliberately made himself dirty, just so that you will brush him. He should be the fierce white wolf, not this pathetic creature who can’t stand to be separated from you.” She made an exaggerated grimace and hoped Littlefinger’s dislike for the direwolf let him not question this story. Ever since Sansa and Arya had reconciled, Ghost had been quite happy to also trail by Arya’s side. But they had agreed that Littlefinger should continue to think that they were at odds.

Sansa petted the direwolf. Arya thought that she looked strange and slightly ill. Her cheeks were burning and her eyes shone as if she had a fever.

Sansa directed a scowl at her, like they had planned. “Have you been mingling with stable-boys again?” she asked.

Arya shrugged. “Yes, I went for a ride with Cai.” Sansa would know now, that the key was returned.

Sansa’s scowl deepened, and she waved at Arya to sit on one of the chairs. _She does that really good. I’m glad I’m not really marked for a scolding._ She quickly sat down.

“Lord Baelish,” Sansa said. “I think, we have finished out little talk. Would you mind leaving me with my sister?” She smiled very sweetly and kindly. Littlefinger was reluctant to leave, but he could hardly not do as asked. Arya tried to throw daggers into his back just with her looks when he left.

Sansa kept smiling until the Lord had closed the door behind him. Then she unceremoniously let herself fall on the other chair and buried her face in her hands. Arya sprang up alarmed and ran to her side.

“Sansa, what is it?”. She could hear Sansa’s ragged breath and when she lowered her hands, tears were streaming down her face. Her cheeks were burning.

“Do you have a fever?” Arya worriedly touched her sister’s forehead.

“No,” Sansa drew a breath that was interrupted by half-sobs. “I am fine, it is just….” Arya could see that tears were forming in Sansa’s eyes again.

Arya got even more agitated. “I should never have let you alone with him, what did the swine do?”

Sansa clenched her fists and visibly made an effort to contain her tears. “It was just as expected. He made his offer of marriage and I just had to play along, so he wouldn’t be suspicious. He wants you to marry our cousin Sweetrobyn to form an unbreakable alliance.”

Arya took Sansa’s hand and unclenched her fists. “We already knew that. Something else happened.”

Sansa looked at Arya “He kissed me, he said, he wanted to show me that I like being kissed.”

Arya scoffed loudly. “As if anybody would like to be kissed by a lump of slime. How did you suppress the gag reflex?”, she said.

Sansa giggled shortly, but it sounded strange, and then she teared up again.

“I am going to kill him.” Arya said. She pressed Sansa’s hands, but her sister shook her head.

“I told you, we want a trial. If you just kill him, we’ll lose the Vale.” Sansa said.

“I didn’t want him to become suspicious. I had to play along,” she added. She raised her hands and rubbed her cheeks to clear the tears away and then touched her forehead gingerly as if she wanted to check herself for fever. Her eyes that moments before had been darkened with suppressed rage suddenly looked into the distance, their colour lighter.

Ghost pressed to her side feeling her distress and Sansa laid a hand on his fur.

“I didn’t like it, not at all,” she said. She stroked the wolf absentmindedly.

“But I think, I might like to kiss someone I love,” she whispered it so low under her breath, that Arya almost didn’t catch it. _Someday you’ll kiss and marry someone you love and it will make you forget about Ramsay and that dick Littlefinger._

Arya was tempted to hug her, but instead she took the bundle. “At least, it was worth the effort, or I hope so. I stole this.”

Sansa pulled herself together “Jon is somewhere north of the Wall, risking his life, we must do our part,” she said.

Together they opened the bundle and Arya explained about the dagger she had found and Sansa told her that she had seen a dagger like this in Littlefinger’s possession in the Vale. They were baffled by the fact, that the dagger apparently had been taken from their father, but they had no solution for the riddle. When Sansa opened the thin book, they both made voices of disappointment. It looked all like Littlefinger’s handwriting, but the letters were gibberish to them.

“There might be something useful in there,” Sansa said, “but it’s all coded.”

 


	18. Fire and Ice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon and his party chance upon their enemy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It feels strange to sit in the sun on holiday and write about snow, snowstorm, wights and everything... This it my first fight scene and I'm not 100% content with it. But I want some important chapter of this slow burn fic done, before season 7 ends.

It snowed upwards, or that was what Jon thought at first. The very ground they had walked on seemed to be shifting and snow seemingly collected itself to form bumps on the ground. The bumps collapsed upwards with showers of snow. Their enemy was there.

With dismay Jon saw that Sam the Carrot had let his torch fall in his terror and even though Jon’s eyes had adjusted to the descending darkness, he felt disoriented for a while. Yet, he began to run towards Thoros and the two black brothers, just like Beric did.

They were outnumbered by far and Jon felt dread when he realised that there were not only a dozen wights, but also four white walkers. They would have to take out the White Walkers or they would never be able to catch a wight.

“We have to take the Walkers down”, he called to Beric and drew Longclaw. Jon quickly looked around to check if their enemy was also behind them, and he saw that Beric had drawn his sword as well.

“That won’t be of use, take the dragonglass!”, he shouted, and almost dropped his own sword, when Beric pulled his sword through his free hand and it went up in flames.

When they reached the others, somehow the torches were alight again, probably thanks to Thoros, but Jon saw with dread, that Sam had been put down already and rose with blue eyes. His comrade screamed at his former brother, but he had his bow ready, and although his first shot went far astray, he had at least kept his nerves together enough to shoot. The next arrow went straight into a wight, but that did not stop him.

“Aim at the Walkers,” Jon screamed at Dickon, while the wight that had been Sam, turned to look at him. Somehow his freckled face had a puzzled look, but Jon did not hesitate and ran him through, hacking with Longclaw several times, until he could be sure, that the wight would not bother him anymore. To hesitate would be his death now and he entered the strange state that came upon him while doing battle. Everything seemed to slow down, as he himself moved as fast as he could.

He made for one of the Walkers. His pale eyes somehow seemed to slide past him and if that face had been human, Jon would have said, that he looked astonished, just before Longclaw hit him and he dissolved into icy splinters. Taking a quick look around, Jon saw that Thoros was wielding the torches like a weapon, but one of the Walkers came nearer and Jon could hear angry hisses as the flames died.

Jon ran to the sleds taking some of the wights down with Longclaw that made no attempt to fight him. He took the chains, they had prepared, with his left hand. He heard the whirring sound of an arrow and saw that Dickon had managed to hit one of the Walkers. The dragonglass was as deadly to him as Longclaw had been to the other, and he dissolved.

Dickon was whooping, but got cut down by another wight, and Jon dreaded to see him rise again as well, but Thoros was suddenly there and somehow set him immediately on fire.

Jon saw that another White Walker was preoccupied with Beric. Beric’s flaming sword hissed and sputtered but was not extinguished, and with a quick thrust Beric ran the Walker through. The flame on the sword died, but the Walker fell and slowly disintegrated on the floor. Beric took his sword and again pulled it through his hand, but nothing happened.

Thoros was engaging a huge wight, that must have been strong man once, in a fight, while Jon came at it with the chains. Although he saw the last Walker approached he also wanted to have a chance at the wight. He shouted to Beric to keep his back.

Beric danced about them and kept the other wights at bay, hacking and slashing in a wide circle around him. Jon threw the chains at the tall wight and managed to get them around his chest and arms. Somehow the wight was all intent on Thoros and seemed surprised when the chain hindered his movement. When Thoros saw that Jon had secured the chains, he nodded shortly and shouted at Beric.

“Friend,” he called. Beric looked at Thoros and gave a wave with his left hand and Thoros turned and faced the last Walker who had come perilously close.

“Let me take him,” Jon called. “My sword kills them.” But he had barely finished his sentence, when he sprang back in horror. Thoros went up in flames and hurled himself at the last remaining Walker. The noise was terrible and the flames around Thoros went blue. For a moment, Jon saw two shadows in the flames, linked in an embrace, clawing at each other, but in another blink of an eye, the flames and the shadows were gone and nothing was left. The wight Jon had secured with chains, just fell over, all semblance of life left him, and looking around Jon saw that the other wights had fallen as well.

Then, realisation hit him.

“They don’t realise we are here. And with their masters’ death they stop”, he said to Beric.

“For them, we are as dead as they are.” Beric answered.

“You planned this,” he told Beric. “Thoros did this on purpose. He let Sam and Dickon die and then sacrificed himself” His heart felt heavy. “Is this really so important, that we had to sacrifice living people?”

Beric nodded. “If what Thoros saw in the flames is true, this is so important.”

He came with the sled and pushed the tall corpse on it.

“Why didn’t you tell me about your plan?” Jon asked.

“In all honesty, we were not sure, that the wights cannot sense you. After all, you’ve only been raised once, and with little Shireen’s sacrifice there might have been other powers at work as well.”

Jon gave him a hard stare. “So Thoros took out the last Walker so that we would be alone with the wights.”

Beric nodded again. He took a dragonglass dagger and drove it deep in what remained of Dickon’s chest and then he continued to do so with the other wights, safe the one they had captured.

“We better leave here. The Walkers obviously are still able to sense us, and we shouldn’t stay in one place.”

Jon felt numb. He gestured at the corpses. “Will they not raise now?”

Beric shrugged. “I doubt the Walkers can touch the daggers. We have no time to bury them and no wood to burn them. That’s the best we can do.”

Jon knew this was sensible and yet he felt incredibly sad. He looked at the face of Sam the Carrot and went over to close his eyes. “You fought bravely”, he said. Even if Sam had been taken by surprise he had willingly joined them on a dangerous mission. “Now his watch is ended,” Jon said. There was no use doing the same with Dickon. Thoros had burnt him thoroughly, but Jon nevertheless went over and touched the remains of his body. “Now his watch is ended.”

The temperature was not as cold as it had been moments before, but the torches were gone and the sky gave little light. When he looked up, more and more stares were vanishing into the dark and wind quickly picked up speed. _I probably didn’t think about the wind during the fight._

“We shouldn’t move to far away,” he said. “It’s too dark. There is no use in getting lost.”

He took the rope and pulled the sled. Beric picked up one of the torches and tried to light it, but Jon bade him not to do it. “It might attract Walkers. After so many sacrifices we must do our best to survive the night.”

He looked again at the sky and pulled his furs about him. The wind was gaining force, and with all the clouds that had come, Jon was not really surprised, when it began to snow.

At first it was thick flakes of almost wet snow, falling slowly and leaving fat drops on their clothes and faces that tickled in a nice way, but soon Jon got worried. The snowflakes began to whirl around them and although the wind still had not picked up much speed, yet the snow was all around them and even if the flakes were big flakes, their kisses on his skin began to bite.

“We’ll lose our way in this dark. We best build a shelter.” Jon said. “Tomorrow with first light we make for the wall and Eastwatch.”

He tried to remember his first winter, such a long time ago, when he had built snow huts with Robb. It was only a dim memory, but he thought he knew enough to prevent them freezing to death in the night.

Beric helped and worked according to Jon’s instructions and after a while they had built a small shelter with packed snow. The wind was howling now, and Jon and Beric huddled in the shelter.

“Can we build a fire here?”, Beric asked.

Jon shook his head. “Too dangerous. Our bodies should be warm enough to warm the shelter.”

“We have to depend on you here,” Beric said. “I think, my fire has almost left me, when I fought with the Walker. It’s a wonder I’m still standing.”

He took one of his gloves off and reached out to Jon. Jon took his hand. Beric’s hand was not exactly cold, but it held not warmth. Beric pressed his hand shortly and smiled.

“I’ll take the first watch, your Grace.” Beric said. “I’ll wake you in the middle of the night.”

“Don’t forget to wake me up. Even without wights or Walkers the cold itself is dangerous enough.”

Jon made himself as comfortable as he could get, and closed his eyes. He thought that he would not be able to sleep, but somehow his consciousness fled his body almost immediately and drifted away, and his thoughts led him far away south of the wall where his heart wanted to be.


	19. At the weirwood tree

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon gets some information about Winterfell, and is unexpectedly rescued by someone he's never met before.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally, some Jonsa content! This chapter was far easier to write that the last. As always comments are appreciated. Next I probably will have to tackle Davos' and Brienne's mission.

_Jon dreamt. He was at the weirwood tree in Winterfell, and someone was stroking his fur, no Ghost’s fur. Sansa was sitting under the tree and hugging her knees. She was crying._

_Jon’s heart skipped a beat and he tried to reach for Sansa’s face only to realise that he had paws. He put his paw on Sansa’s knee and clumsily tried to lick her face._

_Sansa put her arms around his neck. Jon could feel her tears tickling where they reached the skin under his fur._

What is it? Who has hurt you?

_He sensed himself growling._

_Sansa raised her head and Jon could see through Ghost’s eyes as she gave a weak smile through her tears._

_“Oh Ghost, my dear,” she stroked him. “You can’t do anything about that. I know you want to protect me, but this is nothing you can do anything about.”_

_Jon raised his paw and nudged Sansa’s knee._ Tell me!

_Sansa seemed to understand him and scratched his ears._

_“You must promise to tell nobody, not even Jon” she said. Jon made Ghost wriggle his tail and tried again to lick Sansa’s face. That made Sansa give a short laugh._

_“And no word to Arya either, promise?” Jon nudged her again with Ghost’s paw._

_She bowed down until her mouth was close to Ghost’s ears._

_“Yesterday Littlefinger kissed me,” she said. Jon could feel another growl forming in his guts, but Sansa stroked Ghost’s neck and his fur that had stood up was smoothed by Sansa’s hand._

_“It felt so strange,” Sansa said. “It felt all wrong, and I felt so warm suddenly. Arya asked if I had a fever. And then, tonight,…” She hesitated._

_“Tonight, I had a dream.” Her voice became a whisper. “I dreamt of Jon. He was with me, and I was so happy, that he was back, but something was off. He held me in his arms, and I felt warm and comfortable and loved….”_

_“And then he kissed me, but not on the forehead. He kissed me full on the mouth and I realised we were both naked.”_

_Sansa’s breath had become ragged and Jon felt his heart go out for her. He listened intently and he could hear his heart pounding in his ears even though he was in Ghost._

_“When I woke up, I was all flushed and my body felt so strange as if I had been out of my body for a short time.” She dropped her voice even more, when Jon had thought possible, and he could almost feel her heated cheeks on Ghost’s jaws._

_“I was so wet, that I thought my moon’s blood had come early.”_

_Her shoulders shuddered when the tears started anew. “I am a depraved woman. I fell in love with my own brother. It all came to me at once. The way I miss him, the way I don’t even want to think about him marrying for the sake of an alliance, the way he makes me feel, when he is in the same room. The way the touch of any other man makes my skin crawl.”_

_Jon did not know what to do. He felt all clumsy in Ghost’s consciousness and he felt his direwolf wanted to tear apart anybody who made Sansa feel unhappy, but he could hardly tear himself apart. His confused feelings came out in a whine._

_Sansa stroked Ghost and lifted her face again. “You know, what’s funny Ghost?” she asked. She smiled at the direwolf through her tears. Jon stared at her intently through Ghost’s eyes._

_“I was ever so fond of Queen Naerys and Aemon the dragonknight and how they loved each other. I always wanted to have a love worthy of a song, a love that would last for all my life and now…” She hesitated again._

_“I had never thought that it would hurt so much. I can never act on my feelings, Jon is my brother, and here I am, deeply in love and nothing I can do about it, nobody I can tell that.”_

_She bowed down again and whispered again. “I know it in my bones, that he is the only man I’ll ever love, the only man I’ll ever trust and I can never tell him, but I can tell you.” Ghost wiggled closer to Sansa and Jon’s thoughts and heart reached out for her. He wanted to collect Sansa in his arms to tell her that they would somehow find a way to live with their love, that he loved her as well, so much. He almost felt like he was pulled into Ghost. He could reach her, if he tried hard enough, he tried to tell her with Ghost’s eyes that he felt the same, that she was not alone in this._

“Wake up, man, wake up.” Jon felt someone grabbing his shoulders and he was snatched back into his own body. He looked around disoriented, as if he had awoken from a deep sleep, and saw a young man he didn’t know, but who somehow seemed vaguely familiar, bent above him. His hand was on his shoulder and it was clearly daylight, even though it was muted in their little shelter.

“Oh, thank the Gods, I thought you must be close to death by freezing! Your fire went out.” the man said. Jon looked at him all confused.

“You’re not one of those wights, are you?” Suddenly the young man seemed cautious and he would have backed away, if there had been enough place in the shelter.

“Wights have blue piercing eyes,” Jon said. “There is one outside.”

He was wide awake now. There was no time to dwell on the strange realistic dream he had had of being inside Ghost’s head.

_Why did Beric not wake me? I have slept into the day. I could have frozen to death!_

He looked around, but where Beric had sat, there was only blackened earth that looked like the remains of a small fire.

He sprang up. “Where’s? what? Beric?” He looked closely at the place where the outlaw had been, but he only found some fibres of cloth.

“I am not Beric” the young man said.

Jon stumbled out of the shelter and there was still the sled with the wight. The snowing had stopped and half of the morning had already passed. The sun was up again, the sky was blue, but it was still cold.

Jon squinted at the light and then looked at the young man. He was all in black.

“Did Cotter Pyke send you?,” he asked. “Who are you?”

“Yes, I was sent from Eastwatch. I’m Olyvar,” the man said. “Your Grace?” he asked uncertainly. “You are the king, aren’t you?” He bowed.

“Yes, I am.” Jon answered.

“Where are all the others?” Olyvar asked.

“Their watch is ended.” Jon said, his heart heavy in his breast.

Olyvar bowed his head in acknowledgement.

“But you were successful?”, he asked.

Jon just nodded and pointed towards the sled.

“We’d best make our way back to Eastwatch, real fast,” Jon said. “Do you have something to drink and eat?” His tongue felt parched.

Olyvar took a bottle and gave it to Jon and then made for the sled, but Jon was faster.

“It’s better when I am the one who is near this creature,” he said and shot a very wary look to the tall wight whose eyes mirrored the blue of the sky above, and looked like something between life and death. He took large gulps from the bottle and gave it back to Olyvar.

“Why has Cotter Pyke sent you?”, Jon asked.

“You’ve been away for two days, and there was that dreadful storm, that began the evening when you started your hunt, and when the storm died this morning, we were sent to search for your party. Cotter Pyke feared the worst,” the young man answered.

“Two days?” Jon asked. “A Storm?”

“Yes, it only died this morning.” Olyvar answered. “I assumed that was why you built the shelter.”

 _What kind of strange magic was this. A fire in the night to save my life, a dying storm? Beric must have known that he would not wake me up. I guess Rh’llor’s magic burned him up._ Jon thought how Beric had pressed his hand before he went to sleep. _He said goodbye. Did they both plan this all along?_

“I fell asleep. I hadn’t realised that so much time had passed. I was lucky you found me, I could have just slept until the cold took me.” Jon shuddered.

“I almost didn’t see your shelter, I would have never found you if the weather had not cleared,” Olyvar said.

“Why are you all on your own?” Jon asked. “I thought no black brother would be sent beyond the wall on his own. That’s not very sensible.”

Olyvar’s face went red. “Nobody wanted to go with me.”

Jon looked at him astonished. “You do not strike me as a disagreeable person,” he said.

Olyvar’s face went even redder. “My name is Olyvar Frey,” he said, his voice suddenly sounding all small and uncertain.

“Frey?” Jon shouted. “Frey?”

Olyvar went on his knees in an instant. “Please, your grace,” he said. “You can strike me down when we are safe in Eastwatch. But please do not do it here, I don’t want to become one of these wights.”

Jon hadn’t even realised he had drawn Longclaw.

“When a man joins the Nightwatch, his sins are forgiven.” Jon said, sheathing Longclaw. “Did you say your vows?”

Olyvar nodded. “Cotter Pyke had me swear immediately after I arrived. He didn’t want anybody to hurt me.”

Jon looked at him. He didn’t look like a nasty Frey. He had an agreeable open face.

“We’d better hurry,” Jon said. “We have no time for that, even with the sun, we won’t be back before afternoon. And I owe you for finding me.”

Olyvar didn’t say anything for a long time and Jon pulled the sled in silence that dragged on uncomfortably, but not unwelcome to Jon. About midday they shared a meagre meal of dried meat while walking on.

Jon let his thoughts wander and tried to understand everything that had happened. His mind was reeling. Everything that had happened yesterday, Thoros and Beric pulling the strings for their own sacrifice. _Was it even worth it? Will I be able to persuade others of our danger? Jaime Lannister? Daenerys?_ He was glad to be alive and felt very guilty about all the people who had died for him. _Did Thoros see something in the flames, that we can use this wight?_ All he knew was, that he would do his best in memory of the men who had given their lives for the living.

He knew he delayed thinking about his strange dream. Had he really been in Ghost’s body? He suspected he was, it had felt so real! _When I am back in Winterfell I’ll talk to Sansa. If my dream was true, she deserves to know, that she is not the only one who feels like that. And we could find a way to live with this together. If it would mean a lifetime of secret yearning, so be it. Better be loved at all that to feel nothing._ For him it was just like Sansa had said. He knew it in his bones, that he would never love another woman like he loved her. He might as well admit it. _I’m done with trying to suppress it. It never worked anyway._

At first, Jon refused when Olyvar offered to pull as well, but in the afternoon, when he was grey with fatigue, Jon finally gave in. The wight’s eyes still stared, but Jon thought he saw him twitching when Olyvar took the sled.

“We have to hurry, before this thing awakes, that would make it much more difficult.”

That Jon had given him the task to pull the sled seemed to make Olyvar more comfortable. “You do look like your younger sister, I suppose it’s the Stark look” Olyvar said, when they had almost reached Eastwatch.

Jon almost stumbled. “You’ve seen Arya?”

Olyvar nodded. “She wanted to kill me, immediately, but your other sister, Lady Sansa, forbade it.”

It struck Jon then, why Olyvar’s face had seemed vaguely familiar. Ghost had seen him in Winterfell. Sansa’s and Arya’s fight had not been a dream.

“There is still time until we reach Eastwatch,” Jon said. “Why don’t you tell me everything that happened in Winterfell.”


	20. Hail in King's Landing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Davos tries to secure wildfire in King's Landing and stumbles upon a conspiracy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I thought in honour of tonight's possible resurrection of Gendry aka his release from rowing, after 3 seasons I would post this chapter.... Gendrya is after all a minor pairing for this fic.

Winter in the south was not as cold as in the North, but it was decidedly disagreeable. Davos dragged his feet through the streets of King’s Landing. It wasn’t that cold, but the sky had been dull the whole day, and hail and rain took turns in falling. Davos felt cold to the bone, because of the wetness, and he wished that he was back in Winterfell. The snow was cold, but the castle was warm and he did not feel particularly welcome in King’s Landing.

So far, his enquiries had not been successful. The Lannister queen held King’s Landing in an iron fist and the city watch patrolled the streets very heavily and often. His old smuggling contact had proved to be of no use, apart from the man who had given him shelter. He was constantly living in fear, that somebody might recognize him. He had not been in King’s Landing often after Stannis had taken him into his household, but still. Davos had even shorn off his beard and while he scratched his tingling jaw, he remembered again why he had decided to let his beard grow.

Davos tried to follow some guards as carefully as he could, on the mere assumption that if he followed some of the officers, he would come across somebody who was in charge of the wildfire. _Not the best of plans._ But Davos had no other and his smuggling contact who had agreed to give him shelter was adamant about not being involved in anything that could evoke Cersei’s wrath.

“It is a good time for smuggling,” Dalon had told him, “and Cersei and the city watch allow it, as long as it brings food in the city, but that…. No. You’re on your own there.”

 _What good is a lonely spy?_ Dalon had hinted that he had heard rumours about a resistance against Cersei, but so far this resistance had eluded him. So, it was either following the city watch officers or trying to get people to admit they were involved in opposing the Lannister regime. Davos thought that of his two options the one he was currently engaged in was safer, if not safe.

He had been ready to admit defeat several times now, but every time he was tempted to leave Kings Landing he had had the strangest dreams. He was on the Blackwater again and saw the green demon coming for him or he dreamt of the ruins of the high sept or his son Mathos was scolding him for losing faith. It was very disconcerting, but if the Gods had sent these dreams, they had been successful in urging Davos to try again, and again, when the dawn broke for another day.

He felt like the cold was seeping into his bones now and he briefly considered calling it a day, but the strange urge to carry on took over again.

The two officers he had been tailing took a turn into the next street, and Davos followed. He knew this street well, another turn and it would lead to the main street of Kings Landing where it would be easy to follow the officers in the crowds that were milling there even with the bad and cold weather.

He trusted the hail and rain to keep the officers from being too vigilant and turned the corner after them, only to stop dead in his tracks. In the street, there were a dozen or so soldiers of the city watch and Davos immediately turned on his heels to flee, only to run into two civilians who took hold of him. Their grip on his arms and the way they shoved him towards the officers told him that they were not civilians at all.

They dropped him in front of the officers, and Davos protested and tried to fall into the story he had thought out for such a case. He humbled himself before the soldiers, trying to convey that he was only a very unimportant person that had lost his way in Kings Landing, and if they could please tell him where he was.

It didn’t work. The officer looked at him with a condescending look that told Davos that he was in trouble.

“You’ve been following the city watch around for days, now,” he said. “We’ve been ordered to bring you to Commander Gerion as soon as we could get hold of you, sly old man.”

While they escorted him through the streets, Davos rehearsed other stories in his mind. Which was the most plausible and would likely distract the city watch enough to let him go and even more important no to discover his connection to the king in the North. By the time they arrived at the red keep, he had decided on trying the “uncle in search of his nephew who ran to Kings Landing to find a job”. It would mean that he would have to be careful to mask his own flea bottom accent, but it was also the story that might give him a chance of getting away.

He started planting the seeds while the soldiers escorted him, asking after Dickon, son of Guy, from the Reach, or after a black-haired boy with blue eyes who was much too young to join the city watch. Some of the soldiers genuinely tried to answer his questions, but they were cut off by the elder officer.

“Nobody is to talk to him until he sees Commander Gerion,” he said.

Davos silently cursed his strange dreams. He had heard that Commander Gerion showed a hard hand. Admittedly the streets in Kings Landing were relatively secure, but Davos was suspicious about the apparent calm and wondered about the officer who had only acquired his job because of his abilities. He did not sound like a man who would fall for a superficial ruse. He silently prayed for the Gods that he would not end his life in Kings Landing failing his task for the King he believed in.

When they reached the Red keep and the quarters of the city watch, Davos was escorted into a small room, only sparsely filled with furniture and someone went off to fetch the commander. When commander Gerion came into the room, fully armoured and even wearing a helmet that made it difficult to make out his face in the shadows, the officer that had brought Davos stood alert.

“Stand easy,” the commander said, his voice sounding raspy. “Why did you call me inside? Did you want to give me a break in this blasted hail?”

The officer relaxed. “Here is the man, my lord.” He said.

Davos could feel the eyes of the commander on his face and tried to catch a look at him, through his lashes. He had lowered his eyes to make a sufficiently humble impression.

“Found him lurking after us, in this weather, very suspicious.”

Commander Gerion took of his gloves. “Don’t you like the weather? It will be worse, once winter kicks in.” Even though the voice was raspy, Davos could hear the flea bottom accent. He was intrigued.

“If it weren’t for my duty, I would never have left the house today, my lord. I wouldn’t kick out a dog in this kind of weather. It would howl until I’d let it in again.” The officer said. “I hope, I have done well, my lord.”

_Why are they talking about the weather?_

Commander Gerion just nodded and then waved the soldiers away and told them to leave, apart from the one officer.

The soldiers filed out of the door and Gerion turned his back to Davos. Davos briefly contemplated jumping him, but decided against it, when he looked at the alert eyes of the other officer. Gerion took his helmet off.

His voice wasn’t raspy anymore. “So, please tell me, what leads you to the capital where there is a bounty on your head and with such a petty excuse for a disguise, Ser Davos?”

He turned and Davos could see his face fully for the first time. “Gendry,” he said. “Gendry Waters.”


	21. Encounter in the Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brienne tries her best to ensure a meeting with the Lannister party. There is a lot to say about love, duty and honour and the threat in the North.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When I had finished this chapter, I realised that I had Brienne leave with Jon for Eastwatch in an earlier chapter, although I always intended her to have the dialogue is this chapter. I've struggled somewhat with this chapter. I like Brienne a lot, but I somehow find her difficult to write. And somehow these chapters always get longer than I intend.  
> As always comments are very welcome. With season 7 over, I find writing fanfic oddly exhilarating. The long hiatus will probably give me the chance to finish this fic! It is different enough that I hope it will be still interesting.

Brienne had disguised as a man, because she thought a tall man would not be as suspicious as a tall woman. She had tied her hair back, so it was flat on her head and additionally wore a scarf, that hid the fact that she had no beard and that her face was that of a woman, even if not beautiful at all. She had decided against a hood, because that would have been suspicious. It was cold enough for the scarf.

She always felt better in men’s clothes anyway. She had left the rich scabbard of oathkeeper in a field and had acquired a humble leather scabbard. She had smeared the gemstones in the hilt with mud, so that the sword would not be too noticeable.

If she was lucky, she would find Bronn fast. The Lannisters were desperately searching for soldiers, which Brienne ascribed to the fact that the war did not go as planned. Daenerys had made good on her word and used the dragons to harass the Lannister army, burning wagons, incinerating the woods and fields they travelled and apparently the morale was low. This had enabled her to enlist into the Lannister army quite easily, giving her name as Ren Waters. She had to explain after all why she had a sword, and being a noble bastard seemed the logical choice. When they asked her who her father was, she told them it was Randyll Tarly and felt a bit smudge about it. But she knew Tarly to lead the Tyrell army and the Tyrells were in allegiance with the Dragon queen, and Randyll Tarly was a big man.

The low morale of the Lannister troops had made it easy to infiltrate their camp, but it also resulted in her difficulties right now. The schedule of the soldiers was very strict, they had a firewatch on alert and everybody had to know his positions in the water chains they needed to beat the fires, that Daenerys’ dragons plagued them with. So far there had been a few casualties and the soldiers were relieved that the dragons had not attacked the troops yet. They credited their huge balistas that supposedly could hurl spears at the dragons, but Brienne knew better. She highly suspected Lord Tyrion to be behind that tactic of tiny needle pricks, that had the Lannister troops on guard all the time.

Brienne gave her companion on watch a wary look. On one of her shifts she would have to get rid of her co-guard and she was willing to try this one. He was alert, but he was much smaller than her and much less quick than King Jon, and he seemed to be nervous as well. If she could just divert him to some supposed threat, she would be able to knock him out and search for Bronn.

As it happened, it was one of the dragons that gave her an opening. From the colour of the beast, Brienne thought it must be the one called Rhaegal, even in the night, the torches that were mirrored in his scales gave him a decidedly greenish tint. The dragon roared and let flames blast from his mouth, which had everyone on the alert and when he swept down and flapped over the wagons with the firewood, that was so crucial in winter, instead of preparing the balistas, the soldiers screamed and sprinted away. The dragon almost lazily gave a swing with his tail and the wagons were destroyed. Then he shot out a precise ball of flame and the wood burned with a swift whooshing sound.

Brienne’s co-guard had been frozen in awe and fear and the dragon had flown away as fast as it had come. Brienne hit her co-guard on the shoulder. “To our water chains, fast,” she said.

“Shouldn’t we stay in position during our watch?”, the guard asked uncertainty in his voice.

“No,” Brienne insisted. “Water chains come before everything else.” She couldn’t resist to try this.

The guard started to run, but then he turned back again. “You’re wrong,” he said, suspicion in his eyes. “It wouldn’t make sense to have the guards drop their posts.”

Brienne reacted immediately and took him out by smashing the edge of her shield against his chin. Then she dragged him to the side and buried him under some barrels, in the hope, that it would take him some time to recover. She sighed inwardly. Now, she had one chance to get to Bronn. If her letter had made it, Jaime would have told him that Brienne would approach him. Brienne regretted that she had not dared to put any real content in the letter, and she regretted putting a possible contact in the letter, but that was the only thing she could come up with. _Lady Sansa would have had a better idea._

She decided that it would be best, if she gave the impression of being on an errand, and she moved in a determined stride, without running, since she had no idea, how long it would take her to find Bronn.

She stopped random soldiers to ask for Bronn of the Blackwater and once she actually found Bronn it was easy. Brienne ran to him and pushed others aside. “A message for Lord Bronn.”, she cried out. And then she stood beside him, looking down on him, and it was clear that Bronn had been told to look out for her. “Is this the message from the Queen?”, he asked. When Brienne nodded, he waved her along. “Then Ser Jaime needs to hear this.”

Bronn accompanied her and while they were trodding along he glanced sideways at her and had a smudgy look on his face that made Brienne wary. “Seems, you are on different sides again,” Bronn said.

Brienne shrugged. “I don’t think so,” she said. She did not truly trust the sellsword and the knowing look he gave her made her feel naked. _Does he know how I feel? I’d really like to wipe the grin from his face._ But Brienne who had so often suffered grins of different kinds busied herself with thinking about her armour. She knew that if she put on her armour mentally, that she would not feel so exposed. She missed the easy camaraderie she had found with King Jon and Davos. With them she had never felt the need to be so guarded.

She was relieved when they finally reached Jaime who was busy organising shifts. He was talking with a crafter who advised to pack ice around the fire wood so that the dragons would have a harder time to set it afire. There was also a great ballista that Brienne eyed suspiciously.

Bronn approached him and harrumphed.  “Here is the messenger from the Queen, you told me to expect.” Jaime turned and for a moment it looked as if he froze, when he spotted her. The ghost of a smile flew over his lips and he waved her close and looked in her face. “Come with me,” he said.

Before they went he turned to the crafter. “You’d better come up with a quicker way to align this ballista. Your great weapon against dragons hasn’t been very successful”.

Brienne’s felt like her heart missed about every second beat and she felt short-winded just from following Jaime to his tent. In the better light of the tent, she could see that he looked worn. He had shadow under his eyes and his face had a greyish colour.

“I hope you did not run into trouble,” he said. Brienne shook her head.

“No, I had to knock down my co-guard, but otherwise I have been posing as the bastard Ren Waters and haven’t had any trouble. What about you?” she asked. She would have wanted to lay her hand on his arm. He looked tight like a bow-string. _I’d better concentrate on the task at hand. Ser Jaime’s health is no concern of mine._

Jaime half raised his shoulders as if to shrug, but caught himself halfway through it. “You probably know that the war is not exactly going our way.”

“You defeated Yara,” Brienne said.

“But now we fight Highgarden and Randyll Tarly is tough. And theses dragons are a pest.” Jaime combed his fingers through his hairs. “But you know all this. Why are you here? For once, our war is not with the Starks, but with this Targaryen girl that claims the Iron Throne.” He waved for her to take a seat and she sat. Jaime passed her a cup and sat beside her.

Brienne felt comfortable in his much too close presence, but also very self-conscious. It was an odd mixture. “I’m here because you do not know everything and because I have a proposal.”

Jaime made a hacking sound, that probably was a laugh cut short. “Whom do you want to parley with this time?”, he asked.

“You,” she answered, “I’m calling you to a parley with Jon Snow, the King in the North,” Brienne answered, and she could see that she had caught Jaime off guard.

“Why would Ned Stark’s bastard talk with me?” he asked, the fingers of his left hand twitching around his cup.

“Because there are more important things than the feud between Stark and Lannister, it is a question of you, me, and everyone will survive.” She thought that she sounded a little bit too grave, but the situation was grave.

And then she told him everything, about the White Walkers, about the Undead, how dragonglass could be used to defeat the Walkers, how fire could be used to burn the Undead until any semblance of life they had left them. She did not talk about Davos’ plan to get hold of the wildfire, but she told how King Jon had volunteered to provide proof for all of Westeros. Jaime was listening intently, occasionally asking about the trivial things, as to how long a part of a Wight would stay alive, but never voicing disbelief. Brienne relaxed somewhat, her self-consciousness slowly bleeding out of her with every sentence, while the joy about Jaime’s company stayed.

When she had finished, Jaime was silent for a long time. “If anybody else would have told me that wild story, I would not have believed a word,” he said. “But you haven’t seen for yourself, have you?”

Brienne’s heart sank. She shook her head. “But the wildlings with King Jon have told stories, and King Jon himself has fought against many of them.”

“But they are still beyond the wall.” Jaime said. Brienne nodded miserably. She had an idea what would come next. _Let them stay behind the wall. If the North is preoccupied the better for us._

“Your King Jon is sure, that this threat will become a problem for us as well, or is he just looking for allies, as unlikely as this may sound.” Jaime asked.

“King Jon came to Dragonstone to look for an alliance with Daenerys. That is true, but he is willing to put himself at considerable risk to convince others. Of course, this is also about getting allies for the North, so that the North would not stand alone against this foe, but foremost he cares about us all, I would say. He puts his life on the line for that.” Brienne answered. _I really wish I would know why King Jon courts death like a lover._

Jaime looked at the cup in his hand, and Brienne wished she could see his face better. “Why approach me?”, he asked. He raised his face again and looked at her, his face now open to her inspection.

Brienne took a deep breath. “Several reasons. Tyrion is advisor to Queen Daenerys and he trusts you more than Cersei. Cersei certainly would rejoice that the North has his own problems and would not consider a cease-fire, while we judged that you might. King Jon trusted me, when I told him, that I could reach you, and King Jon himself,…” Brienne hesitated.

When they had been at Dragonstone she had thought that King Jon trusted her enough to believe her that there was a chance to convince Jaime. It didn’t really make sense, King Jon’s insistence that Ser Jaime should be given a chance of redemption, and she did not really understand it.

“… King Jon himself thought that I should remind you of your promise to protect Lady Catelyn’s children. He seemed to be quite understanding of your situation.”

Jaime leaned back in his chair, his face in the shadows again. “Understanding of my situation…” he scoffed. “What would an honourable Stark know about my situation.”

Brienne thought about that day at Dragonstone, how King Jon had told them what he thought about Jaime’s situation, how elaborate he had been. It had struck her then how odd it was and after several weeks it still puzzled her. _I have a slow mind._

“He knows that you can’t leave your sister, he knows that after all you both did, you can’t abandon her. That you are tied to her through all the deeds, you did for her sake,” Brienne said.

She could hear that Jaime’s breath stopped for a moment. The hand that held the cup twitched shortly, but he did not lean forward and Brienne had still trouble seeing his face.

“How would a man I only met once know about me.”, Jaime said.

Brienne longed to see his eyes, but she could only see a glitter when Jaime moved his head, shaking it slowly.

“Being honourable does not mean that you can’t understand another’s reason. It does not mean that you lack compassion,” she answered. “It does not mean that you know how love and duty can be at odds with each other.” _I wonder what love and duty is for King Jon._

Jaime did not move and didn’t say anything for a long time.

“How comes you know me that well, and you still ask me to go behind Cersei’s back,” he finally said.

Brienne took a deep breath. _I’ve thought so long about this._ She gave a silent prayer to any God who would listen. _Please, don’t let me fail in this._

“I don’t want you to go behind her back,” she finally said. “I want you to betray her. I want you to meet with King Jon and see his evidence and support the North. I want you to march the Lannister armies for the defence of us all.”

Jaime moved as if to say something, but Brienne raised her hand and bade him stop.

“I don’t want this for your honour, or your promise to Catelyn Stark. I don’t appeal to your duty or your vows as a knight. I want this because betraying Cersei will be the only way to save her, from the White Walkers, from the wrath of Daenerys Targaryen and ultimately from herself,” she added.

“For the love you bear her, you must do this. This is not about staying with her, working for her goals. This is about protecting her.” _And now he’ll tell me no. I should have worked harder on my little speech._ She felt exhausted.

Finally, Jaime leaned forward and Brienne could see his worn face again. His eyes were glistening. _Tears unshed perhaps._ She would have liked to cry herself. As if in answer there was short sigh from a breeze. It looked like the wind would pick up.

“You certainly have become more convincing, Lady Brienne,” Jaime said. His voice sounded odd, as if he hadn’t used it for some time. The light played with the colour of his eyes.

Brienne released a breath she hadn’t realised she was holding. “This is also the reason you should give King Jon. He would do anything for his surviving family. And he will trust you, if you give your personal reasons. He is devoted to Lady Sansa.”

Somehow that made Jaime laugh, bitter, hard chuckles that were hard to the ear, and it took Brienne a while to understand why. Suddenly the blood rushed to her cheeks.

“Not like that,” she protested. And then it struck her and she suddenly felt like her blood rolled back from her cheeks like a turn of the tide. _No, that can’t be. This couldn’t be the reason why he understands Jaime._ Her inward thoughts made her shake her head. _No, I stood guard many an hour at Sansa’s door. I would have realised if something was off. It’s just that Jaime and Cersei make every sibling relationship suspicious._

“If I were to come, where would I meet King Jon. What kind of guarantees would I get?”, Jaime asked. Some wind made the tent flap for a short moment.

“None,” Brienne answered bluntly, “but my word and the word of King Jon. If you agree, I’ll send you a raven. King Jon has several possibilities in mind and we’ll agree on a word I’ll use in a letter for every one of the places.”

“You do not trust me,” Jaime said. But he didn’t sound hurt.

“I do, but King Jon may be willing to risk a meeting with you, but he is cautious and rightly so. The Starks have been betrayed before. If you come, you can take 30 men with you, not more.” Brienne told him.

Jaime nodded. “Tell me the places,” he said. And she did, glad that the growing wind would make it difficult for people to overhear.

Brienne left when Bronn came to give a report on the damage the short attack of the dragon had done. The stronger wind came with heavy raining and the fires were extinguished. Somehow Brienne was glad about that.


	22. Decisions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon receives letters at Eastwatch and has to decide what to do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can hardly believe I finished this chapter with all the work I had, but it was fun to write! If you like it, comment, that keeps me going!

_‘The much needed shipment of wine from the land of the Green Fossoways is on its way to White Harbour. I had unexpected help locating this very special wine. I am sure, that it will be to your taste. We left other wine of almost the same colour at the place where we found it. Thus, the lady of the keep will not miss her favourite liquid.’_

The letter didn’t give more information, but Jon got the meaning easily enough. _Davos has gotten the wildfire and he has somehow swapped something else for the wildfire, so that Cersei won’t notice until it is too late._ Briefly Jon wondered who had helped Davos in King’s Landing. _It looks like Cersei has some opposition right in the capital._

So, they would have wildfire to help with their fight. Jon was sure that even a single batch of wildfire would bring havoc to the army of the Undead. As soon as it has reached White Harbour, it should be relatively easy to bring it North. There was after all plenty of snow to keep it cool.

It was the other letter that worried Jon. He put Davos’ letter at side and flattened the letter Brienne sent and made to read it again.

_‘My friend would like to meet you and see with his own eyes the proof you bring. I think he is earnestly contemplating joining your cause or at least he is willing to take a neutral stand. I allowed him an escort of 30 and I now await your decision regarding the most convenient place for meeting.’_

That one was more difficult. The meaning was clear enough. Brienne had contacted Jaime Lannister and convinced him to come to a meeting. Unfortunately, Brienne had not mentioned Tyrion, so Jon was neither sure, whether he should meet with the Kingslayer alone or if they would better meet with Daenerys as well. The two Lannisters might lose their temper, Daenerys might insist on the eldest Lannister bending the knee before she was ready to meet someone in person. And yet it would be very useful, if they could get Jaime to join their cause or at least to agree to a truce, and for that Queen Daenerys would have to be present.

_It all comes down to the question if he has any real influence on the Lannister politics. He is Cersei’s general, so if he decides that the threat in the North is dangerous to us all, that should ensure quiet on that front._

Like that day on Dragonstone, when Brienne had pledged for Jaime’s trustworthiness Jon tried to picture himself in the Kingsslayers stead. _If I were my sister’s lover, what would I do? Would I even contemplate to act against her wishes? But I would want her to survive. And Cersei is so different from Sansa. Sansa would never want me to break faith at a parley._

Ultimately, Jon knew why he was of two minds regarding the Kingslayer. If Jaime Lannister was beyond trust and redemption because of his love for his sister or because of breaking oaths so was he. _I’ve broken my share of oaths. And I would do it again._ In a way trusting Jaime meant that Jon forgave himself for loving Sansa the way he did. He remembered Beric saying that there was a difference of only thinking about Sansa this way and doing it for real, but he knew that a part of him, the part that was thinking about marrying Sansa to some Northern Lord who would stay quiet about being cuckolded, would not care about any guilt or what people thought as long as Sansa was in his arms at night. _And would that mean that I would not care about my honour at all. Would that mean that I would not care about tricking someone with a parley, or would it mean that I would try to watch for my honour in every other regard?_

Jon fingered the two parchments. He thought about the strange dream he had had beyond the wall. It had felt so real. Sansa’s words were burned into his memory and how he had seen her under the weirwood was such a clear image in his mind that it had to be the truth. _But I was close to die because of the cold. It might have been a sweet dream of warmth and love as they come with the cold._ After all, lately, his dreams had become strange, since he left Dragonstone. Just a few days back, just after they had arrived at Eastwatch with the wight in tow, he had dreamed about flying of all things. There had been an army, wagons and firewood on the wagons and suddenly the wood had gone up in flames. If he remembered correctly, there had been Lannister banners and that image was almost as clear in his head as Sansa whispering to Ghost under the weirwood tree at Winterfell.

He hadn’t heard from Sansa yet, and he might not get a letter before he left Eastwatch. Jon wondered what it could mean. If his dream had been true, would Sansa struggle with every line like he did, when he wrote her? Or would she be too ashamed to write at all? Would she tease him in her letters? Or would her letters be strained? The questions kept coming, but there was no answer and Jon knew that he would not get his answers from a letter. If he wanted to know if he had dreamed true, he would have to ask Sansa. _Sansa, I dreamed you said, you loved me, not like a brother, but like a lover, is that true?_ He shook his head and chuckled silently when he realized that now he would fret even more about every word Sansa wrote.

He hadn’t heard from Arya either, and that worried him. He hadn’t read a line from her, after she had told him how to ‘stick’ Daenerys ‘with the pointy end’ and he hoped that Arya had not done something stupid. He was sure, Sansa would have written a letter about Olyvar Frey, but that must have been lost. The gloves, Beric and Thoros were his last sign of Sansa – apart from his dream of course. _Are they still at odds with each other?_

He was finally drawn out of his troubled thoughts when he heard a knock at the door. Cotter Pyke entered, Olyvar Frey following behind.

Cotter made a motion that Jon graciously accepted as a bow and came right to the point.

“The men are getting very uneasy with that thing in our midst,” he said. “It’s useful to show some of the new recruits what we are facing, but I’d rather be rid of the thing.”

“Does it still move?” Jon asked. The thing hadn’t moved when Jon was about.

Cotter Pyke waved Olyvar forward who gave a report.

“It always wakes up – if you can call it that – as soon as the sun sets, and it always tries to get rid of its chains.”

Jon looked at Olyvar, scrutinizing the young man. “How do you know?”, he asked.

A hue of red crept up Olyvar’s cheeks. “The last three nights I drew straws to stand sentinel.”

Jon stayed silent for a moment, he had an inkling how that might have come about. _Olyvar probably couldn’t exactly brag about how he saved my life._

“Are you afraid of that thing?” Jon asked.

Olyvar nodded. “It’s even more creepy at day, looking at it and knowing that it will move again, once it’s dark.”

Jon looked at him and thought that Ghost somehow had trusted this man. It was then, that he made his decision.

“Commander,” he turned to Cotter Pyke. “You are right, we have a task. The seven kingdoms must be informed of this threat. Everybody who sees that thing will want to protect his loved ones. Send the maester to me. I have ravens to send. And prepare the ship. I would appreciate if you could spare some of your men to accompany me. We will depart on the morrow.” _First, I have to protect you Sansa. You, Arya, Winterfell, the North. I don’t really care about the rest of Westeros, but the more fight against the Dead, the better. Jaime Lannister must feel the same way, once he sees this thing that once was a man._

Jon’s gaze fell again on the young man. “Olyvar Frey, will you come with me? We’ll show the kingdom that in the face of this threat, you stand by my side. If you want that, then kneel, Olyvar!”

The young man was flustered, and gaped, but after a moment did as he was told.

Jon drew Longclaw and let is descend on Olyvar’s shoulders, stopping only in the last moment, briefly touching the cloth, left and right and left again, where the heart was.

“We do no knightings in the North, but let this be the exception. Rise, Olyvar, shed the name of your house and be known as Ser Olyvar the faithful. May your actions live up to that name.”


	23. What is hidden in the past

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa and Arya struggle with Littlefinger's coded diary.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Canonically Sansa is not that good at 'sums', so I pictured Arya to be better at solving a code. For the sake of understanding, I just assumed that the order of the alphabet is the same in Westeros as it is for us. Hopefully that doesn't make it to irrealistic. But if there would be another alphabet, it would be too complicated.   
> I made a short nod to the Jonsa-alphabet on tumblr and the troubles of finding a word beginning with x.

It was growing dark sooner now. Winterfell was in the grip of Winter, and soon the roads would be even almost impassable. Sansa had already ordered the sleighs to be brought out. Soon travelling would only be possible with the Northern garrons and sleighs. _How will Jon come back with the roads so bad?_

Sansa chided herself. _For once, stop thinking of Jon_. She sighed, she had been at the accounts all day and she rubbed her temple because she feared a headache building. She stopped herself before her hand reached her forehead. She was glad, when the door opened very quietly and Sandor who was standing guard let Arya in.

Arya wore the breeches, Sansa had made for her and she had red cheeks, probably from all the sword training.

“Did anyone see you come here?”, Sansa asked. Arya did not answer, but raised an eyebrow.

“I’m sorry,” Sansa said. “I had to do sums, and I’m cranky.”

“It’s good, then, that I have good news,” Arya stated, a grin on her face. She reached inside her tunic and pulled out the little book she had found in Littlefinger’s chest. They had taken turns trying to decipher the coded scribblings, but had been unsuccessful so far.

“He changes the code every page or so. I think he uses a system to move the letters along the alphabet.” Arya waved some papers with letters, that looked like she had scribbled a lot on them.

“But wouldn’t that be easy to read?” Sansa asked. She was not entirely sure, if she had grasped entirely what Arya had told her about encoding. “If he uses say an ‘n’ for an ‘e’, wouldn’t there be many ‘n’s in there? I’ve wasted hours poring over that book and there is no letter that occurs as often as ‘e’ should.”

Arya had explained that ‘e’ was the most common letter. _I wonder if Arya will ever tell me everything that she learned in Braavos._ Sansa did not mind that she knew only tidbits. She suspected that Arya shouldn’t even have told her about the faces. _I want her to keep some of her secrets. I have my own secrets I won’t share with anybody._ Just the thought made Sansa feel as if she blushed. She looked at Ghost who was lying on a fur in front of her bed. _He won’t tell._

Arya rolled her eyes. “I told you, it can’t be as easy at that.”

“Then kindly explain, what you mean!” Sansa snapped. She rubbed her temples again.

Arya looked at her, opened her mouth as if to say something, but closed it again. She took a chair and sat beside Sansa. She opened the little book and scattered her papers over the desk, after she had put away the account books.

“Look,” Arya explained. “I think that he uses a different code for each page, and at the beginning of the page he has a word that gives the key for this page.”

“A key?”

“Well, take any word, for example, Ghost”, Arya pointed at the direwolf. “And you write the key word on the top of every page, like this.” She took on of her papers and showed it to Sansa.

‘ _HJSXA’._ Sansa read. “So, that’s ‘Ghost’ encoded?” she asked.

Arya nodded. “So, every first letter is shifted one place in the alphabet, the second one is shifted two, the third letter is shifted four, the fourth letter is shifted five, and the fifth is shifted seven letters. Then you start again.”

“So, ‘e’ wouldn’t always be the same letter.” Sansa thought out loudly.

Arya beamed. “Exactly. Now, Littlefinger made a mistake. I know that his key is seven letters long, because on some pages he was lazy enough to leave a little space between the key and the rest of the text.”

Sansa tried to make sense of that. “That means, that you know that after seven letters, the shifting pattern starts anew?”

Arya nodded, obviously excited. “Now, I just went along an assumed that maybe there is an e in the key.”

She pointed at the other papers and angled at one of them. “So, I took one page and tried for every letter, if it was an ‘e’.”

Sansa looked at the seven sheets Arya had arranged before her. Arya had transcribed Littlefinger’s script seven times. Just above every line Arya had written tiny letters. She had made bold strokes after every seventh letter.

“Look at this.” Arya said and picked one of the sheets. “I assumed the fourth letter is an ‘e’. “In the key at the beginning the fourth letter is an ‘o’. That means every fourth letter is shifted ten letters.”

Sansa looked at the paper disheartened and dismayed. “But these are all different letters”, she said. She caught herself. “Of course, they must be.”

“How does that help us?”, she insisted looking at the sheet of paper, the letters somehow dancing before her eyes. Sansa realised that there were tears in her eyes. _I don’t get enough sleep._ She silently cursed Littlefinger and his devious mind.

“If we can decipher one page, we get the key. We have to guess the words surrounding the letters we know.” Arya explained.

Sansa looked at the sheet in her hand. “So, I just guess some words that have an ‘o’ in them, or a ´’w’? That doesn’t look easy.”

Arya nodded. “No, but we look at the same page and try for words with different combinations for the ‘e’. Then we try to decipher the key. If we have the key, we can read the whole diary. It’s just like Littlefinger’s chest, really.”

Her sister’s eyes were shining with excitement.

Sansa let her eyes wander along the page Arya had shoved. “Here is an ‘e’ that is decoded. So I could start with a common word.” She mused.

She let the sheet of paper sink. Arya nudged her. “You start with this sheet. I’ll take that one. Look, if the same letter combination comes up, that can be a hint.” She pulled another sheet in her front and looked at it, frowning, the tip of her tongue dancing across her lips.

 _I have to find something I can use against Littlefinger._ Ghost rose and padded along at her side, pressed himself to her legs and laid his head on her lap.

Sansa’s weariness got better immediately. She scratched him behind the ears and bowed down to pet him. She came close so his ears. “You keep my secret, don’t you?”, she whispered in a very low voice. Arya’s feather was scratching across the paper.

_I miss Jon._

She took a deep breath and looked at the paper again. _Concentrate. Don’t think of Jon. He is not meant for you. You must put an end to this. Littlefinger is the problem here._ Gently, she made Ghost sit at her feet. He laid his head on her feet seemingly content.

On the bottom of the paper there was an ‘e’ scribbled across an ‘o’. Sansa chanced a look at Arya. Arya had scribbled ‘the’ and ‘have’ around two of the ‘e’s she had found and was counting on her fingers. On the first letter of the key at the beginning of the page she had scribbled an ‘x’.

Sansa pointed at the ‘x’. “That must be wrong. Is there even a word that begins with ‘x’.”

Arya elbowed her in the ribs. “Work on your own sheet!”, she said.

Sansa laid he paper on the table. She added a ‘t’ and ‘h’ just at the side of the ‘e’ at the bottom of the paper. The letters beneath were ‘x’ and ‘k’. She tried to count the letters backward in her head, but in the end, she ticked her fingers off, like she had seen Arya do it. She looked at the top of the page and the seven letters Arya had circled. ‘Xewomfu’

 _I must count backwards…_ Sansa reminded herself. She wrote a ‘t’ above the ‘w’ and am ‘a’ above the ‘e’.

‘ATE’ it read above the lines. Sansa couldn’t help herself. She giggled. “Look, Littlefinger ate something.” She showed the three letters to her sister. Arya arched an eyebrow. She waggled her own paper.

“Did you even check if this combination occurs several times?” she asked.

Sansa looked at the ‘xko’ and scanned the paper. “Only at the same place though?” Sansa asked. Arya grunted impatiently, and Sansa found ‘xko’ four more times.

Now, she could see the appeal of the riddle, and she continued ticking letters of with her fingers and worked on the second, third and fourth letter of the groups of seven.

She got excited when there were random bits that seemed to make sense, ‘ran’, ‘say’, and the occasional ‘the’. She was staring at ‘omo’ when Ghost got up and pressed his snout into her side. He was silent as always.

“Ghost has to go outside, I think” Sansa said. She stood up and went to the door, Ghost at her heels. Arya was still writing tiny letters on her sheet that looked surprisingly tidy.

Sansa went all the way outside with Ghost, the air was fresh, and the stars were blinking, just like the night she had been whispering to Ghost under the weirwood tree.

She knelt in the snow and hugged him. Again, she whispered in his ears. “You know, I wish he was here, even though I have no idea how I can ever look in his eyes again. I’m so afraid he’ll realise something is amiss. He is quite observant.”

Ghost quickly licked her face and then he bounced away. “Come back, when you found your rabbits!” Sansa called.

She went back into the castle, thinking about that night under the weirwood tree. She raised her fingers to her lips and briefly wondered how Jon’s lips would feel. She was sure her forehead was flushed. _Did Cersei feel that way? Full of guilt? Full of wonder? How is it even possible that there is man like Jon. And what a joke that he is the only man I cannot have._

When she came back to her chambers Arya had crumpled her sheet of paper and was working on a second, frown on her forehead still in place.

Sansa sat down again. She did not want to think about Littlefinger. She would rather think about how Jon had talked to her with trust and love. She would like to bask in the memory. Reluctantly and with a feeling of resentment for Littlefinger, she took up her quill. She tried to think about how much she detested him, that manipulating liar, how she wanted to catch him at his machinations.

Shuddering she thought about the Moon Door on the Eyrie and her aunt Lysa. She had never talked about this, not with anybody, but she could see Littlefinger still, his lips smiling at Lysa while his eyes were cold, so cold. _‘I only ever loved one woman.’_ Sansa could see how he had shoved her, how the look of trust and love on her aunt’s face had distorted into horror. _‘Cat. I only loved Cat.’_

It hit her then. She looked at her sheet. “Catelyn,” she said. “the key is Catelyn.” Arya looked up.

“What? Our mother’s name? Why?”, she asked.

“Because he loved her, he was obsessed with her.” Sansa was sure now.

As it turned out, Catelyn was the key and it was as Arya had explained. Once they had the key it was easy. Still, it took them most of the night, but when the first light came up, they knew what secrets the little booklet held. When they had read everything, they were silent for some time. Arya was staring in the flames.

“To think that Rhaegar never abducted Lyanna. To think that she ran away from a marriage to Robert,” Arya whispered to the flames.

“To think that Littlefinger could have prevented a war, if he only had told somebody he had seen her stealing away in the night. To think that he just took her letter.” Sansa mused.

 “He wanted uncle Brandon dead. He made it look like Rhaegar abducted her. Is that enough to accuse him of treason?” Arya asked.

“Do you think she was even with Rhaegar in the beginning? She must have been later on, Father found her with the kingsguard.” Sansa was trying to adjust her thoughts to the things they had learned.

The sisters stared at each other, and Sansa took Arya’s hand and the sisters pressed their hands together.

“I hate him”, Arya said. “This should be enough to prove that he does not have the North’s best interest at heart. It should be enough to banish him forever.”

Sansa nodded. “Yes, this would be enough, but there must be more. If we look at more recent entries, we will find more treason I am sure.”

Sansa reached out and hugged her sister. “I’m glad you’ll help me bring him down. If you can’t keep a straight face, try to avoid him in the next days. I think I have an idea how we can bring about his reckoning.”


	24. Saltpans

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> King Jon and Queen Daenerys await Ser Jaime Lannister at Saltpans for a parley.

Davos was glad when they finally reached Saltpans. The last weeks had been exhausting. His chin itched where he had shaved off his beard, so he wouldn’t be recognised. Still, Davos kept his hood up most of the time. The cold and the snow was a ready excuse for that.

 _Who would have thought that Jaime Lannister of all people would join our little wildfire smuggling party_.

Davos still did not know, if Brienne had managed to speak with Jaime. Officially Jaime Lannister was on his way to Lord Harroway’s town to enforce the Queen’s rule, but Davos could not possibly approach him and ask if he had been invited by Brienne. He would have to find a way to somehow get rid of the man.

Gendry and Davos had separated in King’s Landing as soon as Davos had set out with some of the wildfire. Davos and Gendry had decided not to touch the oldest caches from the time of Aerys. They had just plundered the most accessible wildfire. They had awaited, until the snow was thick enough to travel with sleds. That would make for a smoother and less dangerous journey for the wildfire. Packed in ice and set with a ridiculous amount of space between the jars and the boxes, the train had set out at a slow pace. Davos was accompanied by a dozen reliable men Gendry had handpicked. All reliable men who knew that their destination was the parley the King in the North and the Dragon queen had called for the sake of the man riding beside them.

It had been quite a fright for Davos when Jaime Lannister had caught up with him on the road, and accompanied by Gendry of all people. The Kingslayer had a dozen guards with him, about the same amount Gendry had chosen as an escort for him and his wildfire. There had been no opportunity to talk with Gendry who made a point of avoiding Davos, and Davos had acted along with him. And there had been no possible excuse to not travel together in the midst of winter. Travelling together meant sharing fires and more safety. Davos had not succeeded in coming up with anything as an excuse to part ways.

So, Davos tried to keep himself out of the line of vision of the Kingslayer and hoped for the best, but it had not made for a comfortable journey. Davos wondered every day, if the Kingslayer would realise what they had on their sleds, that were officially packed with just trading goods for White Harbour, or if he would recognize him from the times King Robert had been a visitor to his brother Stannis. Was it happenstance or was the Kingslayer on his way to meet King Jon and Daenerys? Why would he have taken the Commander of the City Watch of all people? _But if he wants to trap us wouldn’t he have brought more people?_

Davos had decided rather to err on the side of caution than risk everything on the chance that Brienne had contacted the Lannister general and that had ensured sleepless nights for Davos. _I am such a fine hand. If I were better at reading nobles I would know what Jaime Lannister plans._

The worst was, that sometimes he would catch Jaime Lannister looking at him as if pondering the very same questions he had, but there were other times when the knight was just staring at the horizon.

So, when Saltpans came into sight Davos heaved a sigh of relief.

He took his leave from his travelling companions, told his crew to stay behind, until he had secured passage for their goods in Saltpans and made a show of leaving Jaime Lannister and ‘Gerion’ the commander of the city Watch on the road to Lord Harroway’s town. He tried not to look back to Gendry and avoided his eyes.

When he arrived in Saltpans there were Unsullied everywhere. Davos was glad, that the Dothraki were nowhere in sight. He doubted that they would sit well with the local populace. He wondered where Daenerys had sent the horse riders. The Unsullied escorted him to the King in the North and Davos was glad to see Brienne at his king’s side as well.

Daenerys had decided to meet in the open. The harbour had a big market, even if Saltpans was after all only a small city. Davos had seen that trade had visibly dwindled during the war of the five kings. There were only three ships in the harbour, one was a big galley, whose style reminded Davos of the Iron Islands. The sails on the ship had some Essosi pattern, though and Davos assumed that it must be one of Daenerys’ ships. The other would be the ship King Jon had used. It had a distinctly Northern outline, while the third was only a small vessel. Davos could see one of the sailors who stood on deck, curiously eying their meeting.

The dragons were sitting in one corner of the market and Davos shuddered seeing them.

 _I suppose it makes sense to show your strength, but Jaime Lannister must have courage to come to this place. If he even comes._ Davos was glad that they would be in the other corner of the harbour.

Davos pondered again, if he should just have asked Jaime Lannister if he was on his way to this meeting. King Jon looked forlorn, but he smiled when he saw Davos. Davos thought he shortly contemplated commenting on his lack of beard, because his gaze lingered there, but instead he introduced the young man by his side as ‘Ser Olyvar’ but did not give a family name.

He then waved to Brienne to proceed and Davos was glad to hear that she had indeed contacted Jaime Lannister. When Davos told her that he had met the Kingslayer on his way, her face lit.

“I’m sure he’ll come. I must have found the right words.” She looked relieved as if a huge weight had been removed from her heart. _She looks almost pretty, when her eyes shine like that._

Davos asked after King Jon’s sojourn north of the Wall, and the king’s face changed to a solemn look.

“We got what we were after, but we paid a high price. Four people died to get us this proof.”

“You look exhausted, your grace.” Davos said. From his closer view the man he had chosen for his king had visible lines in his young face.

“Olyvar and I watched over that thing.” King Jon gestured to a sled where Davos could make out a bundle. _O gods, I haven’t even seen that before._

“Is it safe?” he asked.

“Until the sun sets.” Olyvar said.

Davos squinted at the sun. They had some time left. He didn’t know if he really wanted to see a dead man come to life.

Daenerys Targaryen and her entourage came over and greeted them. Davos thought it was a good sign, that she had made her way to them. It meant that she might see the King in the North as an equal now.

When Jon gave a hint of a bow, Daenerys frowned.

“Jon Snow, have you fulfilled the task that was set to you?”, she asked.

“I have done as we agreed.” He answered.

“I have letters for you, Jon Snow.” Tyrion Lannister said. “This one arrived after you had left Dragonstone.”

He gave a small scroll to King Jon, the seal seemingly unbroken. Davos noticed the small direwolf on the seal, and knew that Jon would open the letter immediately. He always made a face like a starving man in front of food, when a letter from Winterfell arrived.

And indeed, King Jon broke the seal immediately, but not after giving Tyrion a sharp glance. He read a few lines and Davos could see that the king frowned and was visibly taken aback.

“Is there bad news?”, Davos asked, worried.

King Jon shook his head. “I’m not sure. This message must be old.” He turned to Olyvar. “This is the message my sister sent me to tell about your arrival in Winterfell and what she had planned for you.”

“Arya has written as well…. “ King Jon’s voice trailed off. He shook his head. He seemed troubled.

“Arya was not sympathetic to your case, just like you told me….”, he said to Ser Olyvar. Olyvar was flustered by that comment and lowered his eyes.

“Letters you said?”, he asked Lord Tyrion. Tyrion gave him another scroll his thumb prevented Davos from identifying the seal. King Jon frowned at the scroll, but he took it as well and opened it.

This one surely had bad news. About halfway through the letter, Davos could see, that the blood drained visibly from the King’s face. “What is this?” he could hear him murmur.

“Your grace? Is something amiss? “ he asked cautiously.

Jon gave an impatient wave. “Not now, later, “ he said offhandedly.

The King visibly pulled himself together and took the two letters and put them in his tunic. While he did so, Davos saw that there were already other pieces of paper. Tyrion Lannister eyed the King with a curious look.

It was as this moment that they heard the clanging of hooves. Jaime Lannister entered the market place, accompanied by his men, but he stopped at the entrance. He dismounted, but did not approach. One of his men carefully came closer, shooting nervous looks at the dragons.

He gave a short bow. “My lord of Lannister would ask for a surety before he comes to the parley.”

King Jon waved to Olyvar. “This is Olyvar Frey.” Davos could hear the sharp intake of his own breath in unison with the Lannister man.

“If a Frey is safe at my side, a Lannister may feel safe.”

“How did a Frey come to be your man,” Tyrion Lannister asked. Queen Daenerys looked puzzled at King Jon.

King Jon shrugged. “Long story. There is no time for that.”

“What about the dragons?” the Lannister man asked.

“I have them well under control”, Queen Daenerys told him. As if in answer the largest Drogon gave a short flip of his tail that produced a puff of air that Davos could feel.

The Lannister man went back to the Kingslayer and Jaime handed his reins to him. He approached on his own, leaving his men behind. Davos could see that Gendry made a move as if to accompany him, and Jaime made a sign for him to join, but waved back the others.

When the Kingslayer arrived, Davos could see that his eyes found Brienne’s. Instead of a bow he just gave a nod.

“Jon Snow, Daenerys Targaryen. Forgive me if I don’t address you as you think proper. But I do not accept any of you as king or queen.”

Davos could see that Daenerys barely contained her anger and he felt a stirring in the air. The dragons seemed to feel the Queen’s anger and were restless. Davos saw that she glanced shortly at Tyrion who, almost inivisibly, shook his head.

King Jon just shrugged. “I was made King in the North by the people of the North, your acceptance does not come into that. We didn’t come here to discuss acceptance of queens or kings anyway.”

King Jon did his best to give Jaime Lannister a stern look. “You already know, that there are more important things at stake.”

The Kingslayer just nodded. He then turned to Davos. “Well met, Ser Davos,” he said. “I liked you better with a beard. If we have time later, you might tell me, what exactly you smuggled out of King’s Landing. I hope, it wasn’t something important.”

Davos could feel the heat rising to his cheeks. _So much for my disguise. Is this some cruel jest? Does he know about the wildfire?_

Tyrion raised an eyebrow at Davos.

Answering the unvoiced questions, Davos admitted his failure. “I met Ser Jaime on the road to Saltpans. I was not sure, if he had recognized me. You would have spared me some anxiety if you would have told me you were on your way here.”

Jaime smiled. “It was more fun watching you squirm.”

Davos wondered if Jaime was aware of Gendry as one of his helpers, when he pointed at him.

“This is Gerion, he is the commander of the city watch in King’s Landing.”

Davos tried to catch Gendry’s eyes, but the lad made a show of seeming to be flustered. He hid a tiny shake of his head in nervous fidgeting. Davos had been about to open his mouth and to announce that he knew him, but he caught himself just in time. _Good lad. Probably wouldn’t be a good idea to introduce the sole remaining son of Robert Baraetheon in this company anyway._

“Will we get down to business, then?” Jaime asked.

“If you want to call it business, when the world as we know it might end,” King Jon said.

“I see, you’re still an all sensible and humourless Stark,” Jaime sighed. “But go ahead.”

And King Jon explained. Davos wondered if the would ever get tired of telling people about the impending doom. He was worried, when the King told how the red priest Thoros had talked about the magic of the wall waning. _I wouldn’t trust anything a red priest says._

For once, the Kingslayer made no quips, and Davos saw Tyrion and Queen Daenerys listening intently as well as King Jon related his trip beyond the wall. Davos was sure that he left out most of the terror and fear he must have felt.

“And you have proof of this.” Jaime summed up.

King Jon squinted at the sun. “Just wait for a little while.”

He waved to Olyvar who approached the bundle behind them carefully and exposed a corpse when he took away a blanket. A strange smell reached Davos’ nose, not the stench a corpse who apparently had been dead for at least a month, but something else. He was reminded of ice so cold, that it burned the skin away, not of the clean air after a light snowfall, but of the difficulty to breathe in heavy storm, because the wind would snatch the air away. He was reminded of this absence of smell that came with lack of air. The blue eyes of the corpse made him shudder.

Jaime came to have a closer look. Brienne made as if to step forward but stopped midway, her foot in the air for a while, before she put it down again.

Davos was filled with a feeling of dread, while they awaited the sundown, as if something terrible was about to happen.

Olyvar kindled a torch, and King Jon drew Longclaw. They stood alert. Davos wanted to run away, to escape that non-stench that came in waves from the corpse and drove the air from his lungs. The silence was roaring in his ears.

All off a sudden, with a screech that hurt his ears, the corpse came to life, the moment the last thin ray of sun disappeared beneath the horizon. Davos could hear the collective gasps, when they all stepped back, all safe King Jon, Olyvar and Jaime Lannister.

Olyvar went at it with the torch and incinerated the clothes. King Jon hacked at it with Longclaw and one of his arms came free. It flew through the air, and landed immediately before the feet of Queen Daenerys. The dragons began to roar, Greyworm hacked at the arm, that had moved towards the Queen. Everywhere on the square the audience was in uproar, when finally. the corpse went up in flames with a whoosh. The oppressing feeling of lack of air was gone, and Davos took a deep breath.

King Jon sheathed his sword. “As you can see, fire and Valyrian steel can be used to fight these Undead. Their masters, the White Walkers can be slain with dragonglass and Valyrian steel.”

“So, this is what you face in the North.” Jaime Lannister observed. His voice didn’t shake, but it was slightly higher than usual.

Queen Daenerys collected herself together as well. “That was an impressive demonstration, King Snow,” she said. “We thank you for providing the evidence we needed.”

“So, as you would say, Ser Jaime, down to business. Will you agree to a truce, like your brother and Lady Brienne said you would? Will you fight with us against the threat that would come for you as well?” King Jon locked the Kingslayer in his gaze.

“I will”, he answered. “although I don’t know what oath I could give you that you would believe. Although I guess when you trust a Frey, you might take the word of an oathbreaker.”

Brienne cleared her throat. “If you state your reasons, Ser Jaime, King Jon will believe you.”

The Kingslayer looked at her, his eyes solemn and went down on his knees.

“By my love for Cersei, by my forbidden love for my sister, more than anything I want her to live nor to live in a world that has such abominations. I will fight by your side, King Jon. I’ll pledge the Lannister forces, the city watch and all to this cause.” But he did not look at the King but at Lady Brienne.

King Jon took his hand and helped him up. “I accept your word.” Davos wondered why he would accept such a strange oath. Davos found it odd, that he did not ask for other sureties. But considering the Kingsslayer’s reputation, maybe there was nothing to do but take his word or leave it be.

King Jon heaved a sigh of relief and turned to the Queen. “We now have an alliance to fight against the White Walkers. Anything else can be discussed and decided after we dealt with this threat.” Davos wanted to feel relief as well, but the feeling of dread would not go away. _Something is amiss. Will he betray us. What is wrong?_

Queen Daenerys gave a gracious nod. “I will fight with you King Snow.”

They were interrupted by the loud clapping of hands.

When they turned their heads, the sailor Davos had seen on the deck of the smallest vessel, had come nearer. _No, not a sailor._ He was followed by small bunch of men dressed like sailors, but clearly warriors.

The man had the gait of a man accustomed to sea, but he stood tall like a king. He had a horn at his side, a horn that was adorned with strange glyphs.

“This was very entertaining.” He laughed.

“Euron Greyjoy”, the Kingsslayer said.

“Such a keen observer, Ser Jaime. But a traitor to the Queen as well. She had hoped you might not be here, but if I found you here I was to dismiss you as her general. As well as the traitor Gerion, who worked behind her back in King’s Landing. She sent him with you so that the traitors would be in one place. There will be no Lannister forces for the dragon queen nor for the traitor bastard, so-called king in the North.” His smile never wavered.

“Queen Cersei will reward me with her hand after this.” He laughed again, when Jaime tried to draw his sword with the right hand in reflex.

“This is madness,” King Jon said. “Queen Cersei is as threatened as we are.”

“That’s where you are wrong, little bastard king.” Euron said. “These strange creatures will make short work of the North. And we can deal with them after they have killed you.”

“But the White Walkers will only grow stronger with each man they kill.” King Jon said. His hand was on Longclaw.

“Oh, but we will have the weapons to defeat them. I’ve sent a fleet to Dragonstone, it’s already in my hands, we have wildfire to destroy the Undead.”

Queen Daenerys fumed. “I will have my dragons burn you alive,” she screamed, and indeed the beasts stood up, feeling the anger of their mother. They flapped their wings.

Euron did not flinch. “Oh, but you won’t have dragons any longer, little Dragon queen, and without your dragons your power dwindles away. Not that it matters anyway, because you all will be dead soon. That ship is loaded with wildfire and I’ll ignite that to have a merry party.” He gestured to his small vessel.

Then, he raised the horn to his lips and sounded it. The dragons stood still as statues, when the eery sound had faded.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was somewhat difficult to write, since I wanted to leave it in the open, how Jaime would decide. I hope Euron came not out of the blue, I realised I mentioned him many chapters ago, and I hope one gets an inkling on who ratted on Jaime. Next chapter will be plenty of action, I suppose. Some of the threads come together in this chapter.


	25. Fire at Saltpans

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Euron brings Viserion under his spell and chaos breaks out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is pretty action-packed.... I'm still not very sure about my action-chapters, but they have to happen... I couldn't possibly just tell what happens in this chapter via a flash-back. This chapter is mostly Jaime/Brienne, but it is also necessary for a later hopefully intense Jon chapter. I know you all want to know what stood in that letter, Jon got in the last chapter, but you must be patient. Sorry, it takes me so long to update and to have kept you waiting on the outcome of Euron and his horn, but January really was a hellish month, workwise.

For a moment, Brienne stood as still as the dragons. She could hear them screech, as if in anger. It reminded her of a trapped dangerous animal. The people on the docks were screaming in unison, their fear palpable and thick, when the dragons began to bend their necks as if humbled before a king.

Queen Daenerys stood rooted her eyes wide with fear. Jaime had hurled himself at the pirate, but his guards held him off. King Jon surprised Brienne by running towards the dragons.

“Fly,” he cried, “fly. Escape the sound of the horn.” He made shooing motions as if the dragons were pigeons, and the green one blinked as if irritated at this man.

Brienne cursed and drew Oathkeeper. _Why does he always put himself in danger. Lady Sansa will kill me._ She hesitated, when she saw that Jaime was hard pressed to fend off the guards.

The sailors from Euron’s vessel produced catapults. They cut their ropes and while the ship was steering away from the docks, they hurled things at them, that looked like apples covered with mold. Where the strange fruit hit, a green liquid ran out. _This must be wildfire._

Brienne’s heart raced and it felt like there were drums beating in her ears. _This is it, we’re going to die. I failed. How did Cersei learn about our parley?_

Over all the screaming voices she could hear Ser Davos, but she couldn’t understand what he shouted. She searched frantically around, trying to decide what to do. Ser Davos was shepherding several people towards the docks and gestured at the water. Jaime was in immediate danger to be killed and was within her reach, while the King had put several leagues between himself and Brienne. He was fully concentrated on the still mesmerized dragons. The men from the city watch Jaime had brought, were already fleeing. Their commander seemed to be a sensible lad. Like Davos he led them to water. Jaime barely dodged a strike by one of the guards. _He still has not regained his former skill._ Coherent thoughts fled her and she let her instinct take over. With a roar Brienne hurled herself at his would-be captors.

As if from a distance, she could hear King Jon shouting at Queen Daenerys “They don’t want to obey the horn. Make them leave here, give them your orders.”

The Queen came to herself and called the dragons, her voice toppling in anger and fear. Euron blew the horn again and the dragon that was closest, the white one, Viserion, woke up from his alert stance and stomped across the docks, his tail lashing about felling men to either sides.

In between the strikes, from the corner of her eyes, Brienne could see, that the other two dragons were still writhing as if fighting against chains, that drew them to the horn. Daenerys’s shrieks and Euron’s cackling laughter rang in her ears. King Jon was still shouting at the dragons to fly away, while all about them the fruits clanked. Brienne was hit by one of them, and a green liquid poured on her vest. She realised that the fruit were made of clay, and that the green liquid stuck. Although frightened she refused to give up. _Even if I burn any moment, I’m going to get one of those bastards._

Finally, she overwhelmed the guard and turned to Jaime who had managed to stand his ground against the other. With Brienne’s help Jaime managed to overwhelm him, but the fight had taken too long. When Brienne caught her breath, Euron was already sitting astride the white Dragon, blowing a third time into the horn. The docks had emptied, many bystanders had fled, the sensible ones had jumped into the water. The white dragon raised his head and his cry made Brienne shiver. He sucked in air and Brienne prepared for dying.

The certainty of the death, made her bold. Oathkeeper in her right hand, she reached out with her left and grabbed Jaime’s right arm. Her eyes sought his. “Valyrian steel,” she said. “I’ll aim at the heart.”

The white dragon reared and threw an impressive flame into the air. Brienne was shocked to see that Viserion was aiming at the green dragon who had taken to the air. Rhaegal flapped and spinned in the air. His fire breath came in little puffs of smoke as if his ability to breathe fire had been tempered. He was shaking himself as if he struggled against bonds. The great black one, Drogon, was already flying higher. He was spouting fire randomly at the docks, and the ships went up in flames. Euron on top of the dragon was shouting in frustration at the dragons who had not succumbed to the lure of the horn. _He’s distracted. Good._

Brienne released Jaime, picked up speed and ran, secured oathkeeper close to her body, so that the impact would not drive the sword out of her hands. Three steps, two, then one. Brienne rammed into the chest of the dragon, her sword vanishing to the hilt. She tried to retrieve it, but she was hurled upside as the dragon jumped up in his pain. Wildly he shot burst of fire and Brienne was sure that she would burst into green flame any moment. She held on to Oathkeeper for her life and prayed that the sword would not slip free now.

The white dragon gave a high piercing scream and Brienne saw that another sword was embedded deep into his left eye. On the ground stood Jaime. He had thrown the sword. Viserion reared again and Brienne burst into sweat in fear. She was grateful for her gloves, or her hands would have been too slick already.

Viserion beat his wings forcefully, but all of a sudden, he crumbled and fell and took Brienne with him. He tossed and turned, all the while spouting burst of flames, that set fire to everything around them, and Brienne barely managed to jump away from his death throes. She landed in a bad angle on her feet and her ankle gave way in sudden pain. She fell. Euron the dragon’s rider had jumped clear as well.

“You, cunt, you killed the dragon, you’ll pay for that.” His eyes were wild, and all his confidence had been exchanged for shear and frightening rage. He did not care for the dying beast, but still dodged the lashing tail. Brienne tried to stand. She would not give that man the satisfaction to kill her while she was on the ground.

Briefly Brienne wondered if the other dragons would succumb to the horn as well after she died, and a part of her was astonished, that the flames that were all around her were still only yellow and red. She couldn’t see Jaime. She wondered if the King had gotten away. Probably not. _He probably fights somewhere, if I know him at all._

She had no sword, but still she took on a fighting stance. The heat was almost unbearable and sweat dropped into her eyes. _I tried._

Euron came at her shouting, and Brienne was about to swing her fist, when all of a sudden Jaime ran through the flames to her side. He was a frightful sight. His hair had caught fire and his cloak was burning. He slammed his right fist right into Euron’s mouth.

“Her name is Brienne of Tarth,” he roared. He struck again and when the pirate went down, Jaime tore the horn from his side and repeatedly brought it down on Euron’s head until it broke and the man who had wanted to ride a dragon fell unconscious in a puddle of blood, while Viserion shuddered for the last time.

Brienne grabbed Jaime’s cloak, tore at it and threw it away. Jaime looked up at her, his green eyes in sharp contrast to the soot in his face and to the ash that had been his hair.

Brienne looked up, the other two dragons were still in the air, and their cries had the sound of sadness and grief. There were so many flames and fires around them, that she could make out only a few things. The ships were burning. Perhaps the other dragons had put them afire. She could make out several heads of swimming people in the water. She thought one of them was Davos. It was difficult to say without his beard. Close to him swam a man with dark hair. Brienne hoped it was the king, since she could not see him anywhere.

“Why did the wildfire not ignite?”, she asked. _Of all the things to ask, you ask about this. You should have asked after his injuries._

“I have no idea,” Jaime said. He grimaced, when he gingerly touched his scalp. The burns looked alarming and Brienne could see that Jaime was pale with pain. “To me it does only look remotely like wildfire. I think, it’s just paint. It doesn’t have the right smell.”

“Paint?” Brienne was puzzled. “Why would Cersei give Euron paint instead of wildfire?”

_Did she just tell Euron that he should kill Jaime? And hoped for his survival? Did she not know her own mind, did she not want him dead?_

Jaime just shook his head. He went over to the dragon and took the hilt of oathkeeper. He almost toppled backwards, when he pulled it out, his foot pressed against the dragon’s side. Then he retrieved his own sword, a mighty gush of dark red, almost black blood poured out, and the blade smoked. Jaime doubled over coughing. Brienne hobbled over to him, propped him up and rubbed his back to ease the cough. In the distance she could hear the dragons screech. Somehow it sounded as if they were raging, but there was also a hint of grief.

“What shall we do now? Cersei knows I came here to parlay. She thinks I betrayed her.” Jaime took a deep breath. “I think it must have been Bronn, who told on me.”

Brienne thought about the tent where she had talked with Jaime and told him about the threat to Westeros. She thought about the wind whispering in the cloths of the tent. Had there been human breath as well? How long had Bronn stood outside the tent waiting to give his report? She cursed herself. _I should have taken precautions. My feelings muddled up my thinking._

“You did betray her”, Brienne said. “We have talked about this.”

Jaime nodded. “Now, I won’t have an army to bring to the defence of Winterfell.”

Brienne shook her head. “I wouldn’t say that.” She gestured at the unconscious Euron. “He won’t bring back any stories of today, and the dragons burned the ships.” She shuddered as she took in the destruction all around them. _We had such a narrow escape. That was a lucky throw._

“We could travel to Riverrun and collect the Lannister armies.” She grinned. “You could even pretend that you have a royal order to march north.”

Some of the men who had jumped into the water and had escaped the fires climbed out of the water. The man with the dark hair she had taken for the king was Gerion the commander of the city watch. He helped Davos get up to the docks and both looked around bedazzled. Brienne looked out for the king and finally found him, sitting on the ground, knees up, elbows on his knees and the head in his hands as if to shut out the noise.

Brienne ran to him, her ankle forgotten. “Your grace, are you hurt?”

When the king looked up Brienne winced at the sight of him. Sweat was running down his face and his eyes looked feverish.

“Fly,” he whispered.

“What?” Brienne was taken aback.

“Dragons”, King Jon seemed to have difficulty to press the words through his lips.

“I cannot leave you like that.” Brienne said. “You’re ill.”

Jon clenched his teeth and Brienne feared for his sanity.

“Take Jaime… dragons…” a thick drop of sweat ran all the way down his cheeks into his collar. “can barely hold him…  want revenge.”

Quite suddenly he grabbed her arm. “Now,” he commanded “to safety! Now!”

“The other dragons want to kill us?”, she asked. Fear got hold of her again. _How does he know?_

Jon gritted his teeth and glared at her, and Brienne understood that somehow, King Jon held the dragons back, and it was taking all he had. Brienne remembered how the King had touched the green dragon back at Dragonstone. _He knew the dragon was not hungry. And now he knows he wants revenge. No time to puzzle this out now._

“As you command”, she called and turned on her heels. She grabbed Jaime by his left hand again and ran as fast as her feet would carry her. Jaime had trouble keeping her pace, but she left him no time to ask questions.

While they ran, she could hear the screeches of the dragons picking up speed as well, and she looked up several times to saw their shadow on the docks. She thought quickly and when they had left the open place of the docks she made for one of the smaller lanes, that were deep in shadows, now that the night had fallen. She swung oathkeeper and broke open a cellar door, that opened separately to the street. She grabbed a rain barrel that stood at the corner of the house and with the rain barrel, she and Jaime descended into the cellar.

They stood for a long while trying to get their breathing back to normal, and when the noise of their own winded breath died down, they could hear the crackling of fire and the cries of the grieving dragons. Brienne thought it sounded like the music from a strange land. She pulled out a cloth out of her pouch and put it into the water, and above her mouth and gestured to Jaime to do the same.

“We might need to hide for some time, I’d rather have us not cough from the smoke and be detected.”


	26. Alliances

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After the disaster of the negotiations Jon thinks about alliances.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Remember that this is my season 7 AU, so that this is the chapter that leeds to the so-called boatbang. Writing it from Davos' PoV means that you won't actually have to read about it... I hope that it all seems somewhat plausible. It seems to me to be in character for Jon to be in a mood to sacrifice himself thinking that Sansa does the same. Letters can be tricky and they will be even more tricky in the next Jon chapter (tease, tease). But you have to wait for this, Arya is next.  
> Somehow my chapters get longer and longer....

Davos took his boots off to get rid of some of the water at least. Gendry was beside him, trying to squeeze water from his leather vest. Like the other men from the city watch they had rid themselves of their plates while in the water, and they looked like bedazzled rats.

Davos looked at the havoc all around them. Now that the dragon was dead, the fires at the docks were slowly burning out. With a sigh, Davos looked at the remnants of the three ships. Euron’s ship was burned completely and he wondered briefly if any of the sailors had made it into the water. The other two looked bad. _We won’t leave Saltpans by ship anytime soon, unless a chance trading vessel docks. We would need to confiscate her though._

He bent down to pick up one of the grey fruit the pirate ship had hurled on the dock. He showed it to Gendry beside him. “Look, Cersei must have taken them from our fakes. We had a lucky escape.”

Gendry nodded. “Imagine all of this with wildfire.” He shuddered.

Slowly Davos made his way to his king. King Jon was still sitting on the ground, hugging his knees, like Davos had seen from the water. _It looks like he is in pain. He must be wounded, or he would have tried to flee or do something._

“Your grace. Are you hurt?”, he asked.

Jon looked up, he was somewhat pale, and his breath sounded laboured, but he got up, when Davos approached and it seemed like his breathing slowly returned to normal.

“No,” Jon said, his answer short as ever.

“Where’s Brienne?”, Davos asked, at the same time when Gendry asked: “Where is the Kingslayer?”

“I told them to flee, I don’t think the other dragons can understand they went against Viserion out of necessity.” His voice still sounded somewhat strained.

“Come, Ser Davos, we need to clear the docks. The dragons will want to burn their brother.”

King Jon made his way towards the dead dragon and looked at the unconscious king of the Iron Islands.

“They will want revenge on him, as well.” He shook the pirate, who slowly opened one eye.

“Ser Davos, kindly witness my judgment,” Kind Jon said.

He drew Longclaw.

“Euron Greyjoy, you have come to a parlay, disturbing parlay right and therefore guest right. You tried to steal a dragon and in the hour of our need against the Undead you have turned against your own fellow humans. I, King-in the North and warden against the White Walkers therefore sentence you to die.”

Euron tried to struggle, but Jon held him in a firm grip. “Believe me, you don’t want the death the dragons are intent on giving you.” Davos looked up and saw two tiny specks circling in the sky, coming closer. He could hear their keening.

King Jon took Longclaw and buried it to the hilt in the pirate’s chest. Euron only twitched once.

“Warden against the White Walkers?” Davos inquired. “Have you acquired a new title without the knowledge of your hand?”

Jon nodded solemnly. “I decided it is time to name my responsibility for what it is. The old way of doing negotiations is over. We will unite all the remaining kingdoms in this cause. This is the important fight, and all the title I need.”

He shook his head shortly, cleaned Longclaw on Euron’s clothes and sheathed it.

King Jon looked grim. “We need to ally against the White Walkers if we stand a chance. The North is ours, it is only natural, that we make the title ‘warden’ mean something.”

The King called out: “Clear the docks! Everyone, step away from the dead dragon!”

There was a hustle and King Jon firmly gestured to Davos and Gendry by his side to retreat into the city’s streets.

When the area around the dragon was cleared, the two remaining dragons swept down from the sky. Daenerys and Tyrion were on the big black one. The dragons landed on the ground and circled the dead dragon. They tore at the corpse of Euron their roars a mixture of rage and grief, or at least it sounded like that to Davos.

As if on cue, they both stood up and reared, preparing to breath fire. From both sides Viserion’s carcass was engulfed in flames, the flames seemingly battling each other and concentrated in a circle of roaring fire around the dead dragon, and the heat and the noise were almost unbearable. Davos was glad, that he was dripping with water, he wondered how King Jon could stand it or Daenerys and Tyrion who still were on the back of Drogon. Davos could see that Tyrion shielded his eyes with his hands, but the queen was watching with determination.

The dragons’ fire engulfed the dead Viserion until all the flesh had burned from his bones. The dragons stopped and went around their fallen brother in circles, their keening not as loud as before, but still ear-piercing. Viserion’s bones were black and smoking. Euron had burned all the way. Nothing was to be seen of the pirate king’s remains.

King Jon sighed. “That is how they mourn their dead.” Davos almost didn’t hear him.

He turned to Davos. “I think we can safely say, that these negotiations have failed. Even if I knew where Ser Jaime is, the fact that Cersei is aware of his betrayal means that he can’t bring us the Lannister troops. She probably will have warned her generals about Ser Jaime.”

Davos nodded. “I fear so as well, your grace. I think that it is now even more urgent to get Queen Daenerys to ally with us.”

Jon looked grim, but his mouth had a determined set to it. “I need you now, Ser Davos. We must remind Queen Daenerys that whatever the outcome, we did meet our end of the bargain. Is there anybody you trust enough with bringing your…” he hesitated and looked at Gendry who stood close by “trading goods to the North?”.

Davos waved for Gendry to join them and lowered his voice. “Your grace, allow me to introduce my contact in King’s Landing. Gendry Waters, who goes as commander Gerion of the City Watch. Apparently, Cersei discovered that he worked against her and set him up to be killed here along with her brother. But I think, she didn’t realise that we smuggled fake wildfire into her vaults or we would all be dead.”

Jon looked at the other man. Gendry nodded and grinned. “You look very much like your sister, your grace.”

For a moment, Jon looked as puzzled as Davos felt. He had never realised any resemblance of King Jon and Lady Sansa.  “I was not aware, that we have a close….” He stopped himself and his face lit for a moment. “Arya, you know Arya!”.

Gendry nodded. “I was travelling with her for a while, while we were all on the run. She was going by another name then, but she trusted me with her real name. That was before I was brought to King Stannis and Ser Davos saved me.” Davos had not known that and looked at Gendry with curiosity. Apparently, the memory of Lady Arya was a fond one, because Gendry had a glint in his eye.

“I would suggest entrusting Gendry with bringing the wildfire to Winterfell, your Grace, if you need me here.” Davos counselled.

He lowered his voice. “It would be a good idea to keep him out of the vision of Daenerys anyway…. Queen Daenerys might not take to kindly to him. He is a bastard of the late King Robert.”

Jon eyed the commander of the City Watch. “Now, you say it, I can see that. This is a happy meeting,” He shook Gendry’s hand and smiled at him, with one of his rare genuine smiles. “Would you be ready to travel to Winterfell then? I suppose Arya would be glad to see you! She was always good at befriending people.”

Oddly the former blacksmith flushed. “I would hope so, your Grace.”

“So, it is set then, you will travel with the … trading goods,” King Jon said.

He shook his hand and placed a friendly hand on his shoulders. “If you reach Winterfell before me, tell them I’ll come soon. Be careful!”

“What about Ser Jaime?”, asked Gendry, already on his way to leave.

The dragons noise had finally died down and the beasts were circling more slowly. The King looked at them and then looked around. “We’ll send Olyvar to look for Brienne and Ser Jaime.”

“And you, Ser Davos stay with me. We are hard pressed as it is with only few people. We will try to get Queen Daenerys to make good on her promise and to join us in the fight against the White Walkers.”

He looked at the docks. “Damn this Greyjoy pirate. We can’t leave here by boat. This is such a mess.”

To Davos it looked as if he visibly pulled himself together. “Ser Davos, I had news from Winterfell. It seems, we already have the allegiance of the Riverlands and the Vale.” King Jon reached for his vest and pulled out several letters. He searched through them and took out two of them.

“This is a letter by my sisters. It must have been misdirected because Sansa clearly talks about the day Olyvar Frey came to Winterfell, and this happened weeks ago, but according to Arya Sansa was already thinking about a way to cement the alliance of the Vale and the North as well as the Riverlands.”

Davos took the letter and skimmed it. Lady Sansa had a beautiful handwriting. It was painfully obvious that she was not sure of how King Jon would think about her decision to pardon Olyvar and to take Hoster in. She tried to give sound reasons like the guest right and the need to be better than their enemies, but she also just pleaded for mercy. It was well done, but Davos was sure, that the effort was wasted, because King Jon would have accepted any decision of his sister anyway. The rest of the letter was obviously written by someone who had barely contained her anger.

The writing was choppy, there were ink blots, and Davos could hardly believe what he read: “Sansa does not have your best interest at heart. She set the Frey free, so that she can have Hoster as a ward and rule the Riverlands. She wants me to marry cousin Robin to get the Vale and she will marry that lickspittle Littlefinger. You must come home, kill that Frey and punish Sansa. I don’t want to marry anyone. She wants only more power. I want that Frey dead. She pushes me around like she always does. Come home and sort this out.”

Davos did not know what to make of it. “It seems like your sister Arya was not pleased,” he remarked warily. “This is a little bit garbled, I’m sure.”

Jon nodded. “I think that must have been when I had that strange dream about my sisters. They fought often when we were children. I do think Arya misunderstood that Sansa was looking for allies not power.”

“Now, look at this.”, he said and handed another letter to Davos. Now Davos clearly could see the seal he had missed when he first caught sight of the letter what felt like hours ago. The seal had little stubs on it, and what looked like runes.

Davos read slowly. “Your grace, I think I must inform you about the fact, that there will be a council meeting two days hence, where Lady Sansa’s marriage to Robin Arryn, her cousin, will be discussed as a means to strengthen the alliance of the North and the Vale. As much as I rejoice in such an alliance, I fear that Littlefinger plans to marry Lady Sansa herself. I can only assume that he wants to secure his own position as regent by becoming the bond between the Vale and the North. I strongly advise you to forbid this wedding which would only serve Littlefinger. Yohn Royce”

Davos looked up and saw that the king was busy giving instructions to Olyvar in a hushed voice, occasionally throwing glances behind his back at the dragons, that had finally come to rest. Davos only caught occasional words. Jon clapped Olyvar on the back and dismissed him. “And make for Winterfell as fast as you can.”

The young Frey gave a bow and left. Davos saw that his king had a very determined look about him. He was not sure, if he liked it. Determination might mean rash decisions. _Rash decisions come back to bite you in the ass._

The letters hang limp in his hands. “What do you make of it?,” he asked. “What do you think your sister’s plan is?”

“She wants to ensure support for the North of course.” Jon snapped, almost as if Davos had been the person to suggest that Sansa was after power.

Davos was tempted to lay a hand on the King’s shoulders to calm him. He seemed so agitated.

“I doubt that Sansa plans to marry Arya off against her will. Didn’t she write about Alys Karstark and the decision to let her choose her own husband? It makes no sense to undermine that decision by making her own sister marry against her will.”

Jon shook his head impatiently. “Of course not, and Arya is too young. I’m sure, Sansa wants to make this marriage alliance herself, but with whom?”

Davos scrutinized his king. _Why is he so upset? If he didn’t want his sister to rule, he should not have left her in charge._ Davos was not sure, if that was the problem.

“I doubt Lady Sansa trusts Littlefinger enough to marry him.” Davos probed.

King Jon unconsciously put his hand on Longclaw and gripped the hilt. “He might set this as a condition. He is a devious fellow.”

Davos shook his head. “I’m sure Lady Sansa is clever enough to look for support elsewhere then. Lord Royce might have talked to her as well.”

Jon scoffed. “I’m not sure Lord Royce is aware that women think on their own.”

“He might have written to me and talked with Sansa of course,” he added musingly.

“You could try to send a raven and forbid the match.”

Jon looked down on his sword hand that gripped the hilt and deliberately put his hand down.

“I’m not sure, I should do that. This council meeting Lord Royce told me about might take place at this very moment. I trusted Sansa with ruling the North while I am away. I must trust her that she has reasons for her decisions.” To Davos he sounded as if he was very unhappy about the whole marriage plan.

“I’m certain, Lady Sansa will not marry Littlefinger,” Davos said, sensing that this was what King Jon wanted to hear. _Lady Sansa is sensible, and she escaped Ramsay Bolton and brought the Knights of the Vale. Could Littlefinger have anything in his hands to force her to a match?_ “The marriage to the Vale makes sense nevertheless.”

For the blink of an eye Davos thought that his king shot him a murderous look, but it gave way to a frown and he was sure he had misread the king’s expression.

Before they could discuss the letters further, Queen Daenerys and her hand came to them. Davos hastily put the letters in his own shirt and gave a bow to the queen.

She was visibly distressed, and her face looked as if she had cried.

“King Snow,” she said. “Did you see what happened? Drogon was too high up in the air, what happened to that accursed horn? Who killed my dragon?”

“I couldn’t see much,” he said. “We all tried to save ourselves in the water.” He was obviously reluctant to name Brienne. “The horn must have melted.” _He can’t hold that back forever, several people saw Brienne and Jaime fighting that beast. But for the moment this might be sensible._

He looked with compassion at Daenerys. “Your grace, I’m sure that was quite a shock to you. You should try and get some rest now the dragons have calmed.”

The King had it right. The two dragons had settled in a circle around the bones of the dead Viserion.

Fresh tears sprang to Daenerys’ eyes. King Jon took her hand. “We should look for a place for you, your grace. You look exhausted. Since we seem to be put at Saltpans, there is enough time tomorrow to discuss our worries.” King Jon smiled at the beautiful Dragon queen and anybody who didn’t know him like Davos would not have realised that the smile did not reach his eyes. His eyes that still held that determined look.

Several men sprang to attention, and King Jon led the Queen away. A sense of dread took hold of Davos’ heart. _I see what you are doing there, your Grace._ _Rash decisions._ He tried to think of something he could say, but nothing came to his mind. _The Vale, the Riverlands, dragons, it should make sense. We need everyone we can get against the White Walkers._ Yet, the sense of dread would not go away, Davos did not know, if it was just his feeling that King Jon would not be happy in a marriage with Daenerys, or if he was missing an important piece of the puzzle. When his eyes met the eyes of Tyrion Lannister he thought he saw a gleam of doubt in the other Hand’s eyes as well.


	27. Judgement

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A council meeting about marriage plans becomes a trial.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, things are beginning to wrap up. The mystery about Lord Royce's letter is answered here, I guess. This is a long chapter, but I wanted it to end on a hopeful note. I love comments, by the way, hint, hint, even if there is not that much Jonsa content in this chapter.

Sansa woke after a fitful night. It was still dark, but she knew immediately that she would not sleep again. Her heart was pounding in anticipation and dread. She could feel her stomach trying to heave with fear. Would her plan work? For the thousandth time she wondered if she should just have asked Arya to kill Littlefinger.

She dressed hastily in the dark and took Ghost with her and went to the Godswood. She touched the weirwood tree with her left hand and tried to calm. Ghost was a comforting presence at her side. She stroked his fur.

“Do you keep our secret, Ghost?” she asked him playfully. The direwolf looked up at her and licked her hand. His tongue was tickling the inside of her palm. She had to laugh.

“I miss Jon so much,” she whispered in his ear. But it was not like that strange night, when she had unburdened her anguish to the direwolf. Ghost’s eyes were intent and friendly, but she did not have the feeling that he had an uncanny understanding of her thoughts.

She sat on the ground and hugged the direwolf. She would have to dress carefully today anyway and change her dress. Now she needed someone to tell her worries.

One hand on the weirwood tree and one on the wolf she tried to calm her uneven breathing.

“Arya thinks I should not aim for so many things at once. She says, I should just kill him. But I think we need a trial. And if today goes well, we’ll be rid of Littlefinger and still have the allegiance of the vale. Without a trial they might leave. We can’t afford that.”

Sansa let her thoughts wander. _Do I want a trial, because it is the thing father or mother would have done? To give a trial even to someone like Littlefinger? Or is it because I dread the consequence for killing Littlefinger without a trial. Am I just playing the game?_

“Would father do the same?”, Sansa wondered. The trees gave no answer. There was no wind and the majestic branches were completely still, not even a single leaf was trembling. Sansa let the quiet and the feeling of age soothe her and when the sun came up, she felt calmer.

She stroked Ghost’s fur one last time. “I can only do what I think is right and hope for the best.”

In the castle, she dressed with care, nothing too elaborate. A modest dress with only little embroidery, yet of fine quality. It was not as if people would pay attention to her dress under all the furs she had to don because of the cold. But it made her feel better. She had stitched little almost invisible snowflakes on the inner side of the hems at her wrist. When she put her fingers to them she could feel them and drew courage from that. She scrutinized her image in the mirror and decided to conceal the dark rings under her eyes with a pale powder. Ghost accompanied her.

When she arrived in the Great Hall most of the lords were already there as if they knew that this council meeting was important. Lyanna Mormont sat beside Tormund. Her forehead was creased with a frown. Tormund probably was telling her one of his wilder stories. Lord Royce sat at one end of the table, his eyes looked puffy, as if he had slept as poorly as Sansa.

Littlefinger was at the other hand of the table, his little smug smile telling Sansa that he expected a victory. Sansa wondered which of the Lords would put forward the proposal he had prepared. Sansa was almost sure, that Littlefinger would not open his mouth himself. She let her eyes wander around the table. _Who did he buy? Who did he persuade?_ She would take note which lord was gullible. _I must remember that he is glib of tongue. He might not have made use of money._ Sansa bade Ghost to lie under the table.

“Stay put,” she told him. “Don’t you dare interrupt or I’ll have to throw you out.”

Ghost looked at her and Sansa thought he understood. He laid down and closed his eyes, obviously having decided to laze the morning away.

Arya came, a scowl on her face and sitting as far away from Sansa as possible, all in tune with her role. She briefly tipped the side of her nose with the index finger of her left hand. _All is ready._ Sansa gestured to Podrick who clanged on a shield to open the council meeting.

Sansa told the lords the news she had from Jon. The lords were dismayed that Jon had been at Eastwatch and that he was off to the South again for a parley.

“Surely, his hand could have been sent to the parley. The king should be in Winterfell”, Lord Manderly said.

“Be patient,” Sansa answered. “Lord Davos has an important mission in the South. Jon couldn’t tell me all. Ravens might be intercepted. I am sure he will explain all, when he returns.”

Sansa kept the fact, that Jon apparently had picked up Olyvar Frey on his way to the parley, to herself. That might be the wiser course. She had kept Jon’s letter from Eastwatch to herself and only shared it with Arya in one of their nightly sessions. The memory of Arya’s face when Sansa had shown her that letter came suddenly and unbidden to her mind. It had taken Arya several minutes to get over Olyvar of all people rescuing Jon from a death of cold north of the wall. But afterwards, she had given a huge treat to Ghost.

The lords were murmuring amongst themselves, speculating on who was to come to the parley and what kind of mission had to be kept such a secret. As far as Sansa understood, none came even close. If she had understood Jon’s allusions correctly, Davos was to try to get wildfire. Lord Royce harrumphed. “I would like to address a sensitive question.”

When he had the attention of the table, he continued. “The Knights of the Vale have been here for months and some of the knights have seen evidence that King Jon was right when he warned us about the threat of the Walkers. But considering the threat from the North and the two Queens in the South we should think about how we arrange and strengthen our alliance. I’ve been sitting on this council for months”, he gave a slight nod in Sansa’s direction, “but I feel that I presume when I state my opinion in matters of the North.” _That feeling certainly did not make you reluctant to share your opinions though._

“I think, that it would be a good idea to formalise our alliance and I would suggest a marriage between Lady Sansa and our lord, her cousin Robin.” That was what Sansa had expected and what she had planned with Littlefinger. He had done his part and spoken with Lord Royce.

Now, the lord of Harrenhal leaned back a little bit, as if this had nothing to do with him. It was Lord Cerwyn who voiced concerns.

“Robin Arryn is still very young, and it would be unwise to let Lady Sansa leave Winterfell. If she marries the Lord of the Eyrie, we would sorely miss her here.” _Was he genuine about that?_ Sansa risked a glance at Littlefinger, but his face gave nothing away.

“If something would happen to King Jon, Lady Sansa would be far away, married to the Vale. She could not possibly run Winterfell in the midst of a war, act for Lord Hoster in the Riverlands and rule the Vale.”

 _Such a neat reminder, that I’m next in line after Jon. He wants to know if they really want a combined kingdom of the North, the Riverlands and the Vale._ Still, Sansa could not have said, if Littlefinger set Lord Glover up. He might just have pointed out the obvious. There had been enough time to plant his seeds.

“Lady Arya could marry Lord Robin and Lady Sansa could stay here”. That was Lord Manderly. Sansa fingered the snowflake on her sleeve, pressing her thumb and the index finger at the embroidery.

Arya scowled even deeper than before, but she didn’t need to speak up. Lyanna Mormont pointed out the flaw in the plan.

“This council” she said, “recently decided that no woman in the North should be wed against her wish. Lady Arya certainly does not give me the impression that she wants to marry.”

That was Arya’s cue. “Indeed not,” she said. “If anybody wants to marry me, he is welcome to get a steel kiss.” Lord Royce looked uncomfortable and shifted on his chair.

“I see that you all have no liking for the idea,” he said. Sansa wondered why he wanted to close the topic. He had been so favourable for a marriage alliance. _Perhaps he does not trust Littlefinger as much as it seems._

“Maybe we could find another solution”, Alys Karstark chimed in. She was still timid in council, and that remark was as nondescript as usual.

_Now, who’ll jump on that?_

“First, we should perhaps ask Lady Sansa, if she would be inclined to marry at all,” said Tormund.

 “Thank you, Tormund! I will do what is good for the North. But I would rather stay in Winterfell.” She vaguely smiled encouragingly at everyone at the table.

“So, we would like to have a closer bond with the Vale, but we also want Lady Sansa to stay here in Winterfell. It seems like we must find a husband for her who would be willing to stay here.”

Lord Manderly finally went into the direction that Sansa expected. Sansa wondered if Littlefinger had promised him good trading conditions for White Harbour. She would have to find out and probably it would be a good idea to pick up Littlefinger’s idea. There was bound to be profit in it.

Lord Manderly pretended to ponder the question he had put forward. Lord Royce tried to catch his attention, shaking his head vigorously. He at least did not like the direction this was taking, while Littelfinger looked as smug as before.

“If the Lady Sansa were to marry Lord Baelish, we would have a close link to the Vale and its Lord Protector, but he could come to reside at Winterfell, once Lord Robin has come of age.” Lord Manderly finally said. 

Sansa did her best to look surprised by the offer and avoided looking at Littlefinger.

“I’ve pledged my allegiance to House Stark in their hour of need. But I would certainly not be disinclined to marry Lady Sansa. That would be a greater reward than I’ve earned.” _He sounds too eager, he should know better that to move his piece so early._

Briefly, Sansa wondered, if Littlefinger needed to plead his own case because he had not found enough support. The thought gave her comfort.

“Could we be sure though, that you will stay true? You are not a Northerner.” Lady Lyanna’s objection was just what Sansa had predicted.

“Lord Baelish has been a friend to the Starks and he has proven his loyalty in the battle of Winterfell.” Sansa said, and finally allowed herself to look at Littlefinger and made herself smile.

That was the moment Arya stood up. “Lord Baelish,” she said, scowl in place. “My sister says that you have been a friend to our house. Do you swear that you have never done any harm to our family and that you never meant any harm to our family?”

Littlefinger looked around, as if to ensure that everybody understood that Arya’s question was ridiculous.

“It is well known that I duelled with your uncle Brandon for your mother’s hand. But since that moment I never acted against House Stark. Know that I pledged my loyalty to the Starks. I swear an oath to that.”

His smile was condescending. Arya’s playing of being at odds with Sansa had earned her several of these already. Sansa touched the embroidery at her sleeve again. _Careful Arya, don’t overdo it._

“And you overestimated yourself then as you do now. I would challenge you to a duel and I think I would win, but my father taught me to adhere to the law.”

There was an ever so slight waver in Littlefinger’s smile.

“The law, Lady Arya? What could you possibly mean by that?”, he asked.

“You’ve just given your word, that you’ve never harmed my house. It happens that there is evidence to the contrary.”

That had the whole council catching their breath.

Arya waved at the Hound who had been standing in the doorway, and he came with a big chest which he carried easily.

The hound heaved the chest on the table.

“Will you kindly tell us, where you found that chest?”, Arya asked.

“In Lord Baelish rooms,” the Hound answered.

“Now, I’m certain you don’t mind us taking a look at your chest.” Arya said.

Littlefinger opened his mouth for a moment as if in protest, but with the scrutinizing looks of the lords he thought better of it. His confident smile had not vanished completely. He must have remembered that his diaries were well hidden.

“I have nothing to hide,” he said. “Although I do find this is a bit drastic.”

Sansa’s heart beat faster. It would all depend on how convincing Arya was. Lord Royce’s interest certainly had picked up, and that was a good sign. Lord Manderly was frowning.

Littlefinger’s smile was deepening, and he was completely abashed, when Arya boldly moved to him and demanded his keys. He handed them over.

Arya didn’t waste time with the large key that seemed to fit the keyhole. All blood left Littlefinger’s face when she realised that she took the small key and opened the chest.

She fished out the diaries, and showed them to the Lords.

Littlefinger was regaining confidence when it was clear that nobody could read them. Sansa caught his eyes and smiled encouragingly, trapping his gaze, conveying trust and attraction with her smile. _Don’t look. Don’t look how Arya returns the diary we decoded._

“I don’t know what would be interesting about my private thoughts,” he said, when Lady Lyanna demanded to know what this was about.

“You are a schemer, Lord Baelish,” Arya said. “You only write about your machinations and politics.”

She took the book, she must have planted in the chest again and showed it to the Lords.

“I will give you some of his private thoughts, my lords,” Arya announced to the council.

She showed it Littlefinger who had to admit that it was his handwriting.

Arya explained about the key to decipher the diary, and Sansa was glad she did that. She was not entirely sure, she had understood it all, even though they both had worked on the diary. She was sure some of the Lords did not manage to follow Arya either, but they were all ears, when Arya read out loudly, how Petyr Baelish had filched Lynna’s letter to her family.

“So, you never did anything against my family, after you duelled Uncle Brandon,” Arya said. “Your own words speak against you.”

Littlefinger had grown very pale, but he stood his ground. “I didn’t know the mad king would kill Brandon. You can’t blame me for that.”

Lord Manderly’s agreement with Littlefinger let him to come to his rescue.

“I agree, that taking the letter was meant to do mischief and trouble, but nobody could know how far the Mad King would go. He has a point there.”

“It means that he had not been reliable then, but that doesn’t mean that he couldn’t be true now.” He added.

Sansa looked at him abashed. Littlefinger must have offered him very favourable trading conditions. Sansa could see Lord Cerwyn nodding pensively.

_Oh Gods, they don’t think that’s enough. What shall we do now?_

Arya seemed unperturbed. “Let’s have a look at more recent diaries, then? What do you think?”

Lady Lyanna backed her up, and Arya took another one, flipping through the pages.

“Ah”, she said, “this one is from the time my father was hand in King’s Landing.”

She looked at it, frowning. “You changed the code, didn’t you?”, she turned to Littlefinger.

Littlefinger again was regaining confidence. Sansa’s heart was beating erratically. _I said I would marry him, if it was good for the North. I never thought the Lords would let him off the hook with the bad trick he played on Uncle Brandon._ She did not want to have to marry him.

Arya stared at the pages with a concentrated look, and suddenly she laughed.

“You think you’re so clever. But turning the keyword from Catelyn to Sansa is not very inspired.”

After that it didn’t take her a long time to decipher the diary of the day their father had been executed. With every sentence the anger of the Northern Lords grew.

“He tricked Lord Stark with that dagger, planting mistrust against the Lannisters.” Lord Cerwyn was appalled.

Podrick had long decided that it was a good idea to detain Lord Baelish.

But the most damning evidence came last. Sansa screamed.

“You, you gave Joffrey the idea to kill my father! You, filthy liar. I should have known.”

Sansa jumped at him, pummelling him with her fists, wishing for a dagger.

“Sansa, be careful!”, she heard Arya shout, but she was so enraged, that she barely registered that Podrick had let go of Littlefinger. Suddenly there was dagger at her throat. She froze.

“Beautiful Sansa,” he said. “If I can’t have you, nobody shall have you.” Sansa closed her eyes a tiny whimper escaping her throat.

“Please,” she said. Her voice sounded small. With blurry eyes she saw that all had jumped from their seats, but there was a wide berth around her and Littlefinger.

“Gentle mother, fond of mercy …” she heard herself say in a sing-song voice… _Why do I hum?_

The dagger was cold on her throat. The Hound suddenly picked up one of the stools and thrust it aside. Sansa stared at the destroyed stool and barely registered that Ghost flew out from under the table. He went straight for Littlefinger’s hamstrings, and a second later the hound was over Littlefinger, the dagger buried in his arm instead of Sansa’s throat.

With a pounding heart, Sansa felt at her throat. There was blood on her fingers and a tiny drop trickled down her palm and splashed on the embroidery of her sleeve.

Arya embraced her in a fierce hug and Sansa could hear the voices of the Lords, all agitated. Podrick and Lord Cerwyn together held Littlefinger on the floor. The Hound had sat down on a stool, grabbing the dagger and pulling it out. _He’s crying. That must have hurt._

Sansa herself felt faint and she wanted to give in, but Arya held her.

“Now,” she whispered.

Later Sansa could not have said, how she had managed to stand up.

“Lord Baelish, in the name of Jon, King in the North, I sentence you to die for the crimes committed against House Stark.”

She looked around in the faces of the shaken Lords.

“My lords, are we all agreed on this, that Lord Baelish deserves the death sentence?”

Her question was met with approval. Sansa tried to calm her breathing. They had not planned on that. Her heart was beating erratically. _Gods, who is going to kill him?_ Her mind went blank.

The Hound stood up. Sansa stared at his wet cheeks, trying desperately just to think.

“Lady Sansa,” the Hound said. “allow me to carry out your sentence. I will make it quick.”

Sansa nodded, still feeling very numb. It was only after the Hound and Podrick had dragged the screaming and pleading Littlefinger out, that Sansa allowed herself to sit.

Arya sat beside her, putting her arm around her. Lord Royce went to one knee before them.

“Lady Sansa, Lady Arya, I feel deeply sorry, that your family suffered so much on Baelish’s behalf. The vale will stand by you in this testing times no matter what.”

Sansa nodded, and Arya smiled.

“I just hope, you leave the marriage plans for now,” she said.

Lord Royce gave a shaky laugh. “Certainly,” he answered. A flush had crept up his cheeks.

“I must admit, my ladies, that I contacted the king about the marriage plans. I am very much in favour of an alliance of the Vale and the North, but I had my suspicions about Littlefinger, and I alerted the king to his plans. I wanted him to forbid any match that involved Lord Baelish.”

Arya shrugged.

“No harm done, Lord Royce, he can gladly forbid us to marry a corpse. Not that any of us would have married him anyway.”

Sansa decided that she would write to Jon as possible to inform him that there wouldn’t be any marriage. She looked at Ghost, who sat at Arya’s and her feet. _Would I be eager to tell him, if I my feelings were normal?_

They were interrupted by Podrick who came running into the hall.

“Lady Sansa,” he called out. “There is a boy on a sled outside the gate. He claims he is your brother Bran.”

For a moment, all thought of Jon fled Sansa’s mind when she and Arya jumped up and ran, Ghost on their heels.


	28. Three-eyed raven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bran prepares for the White Walkers and shares some secrets with Sansa and Arya.

Sansa was fussing around Bran and the girl that had come with him. Bran tried several times to say something, and Sansa jumped up and fetched something like a blanket, mulled wine, dry socks, bread, anything. Bran always closed his mouth again and by the time they were finally settled at the hearth in Sansa’s chamber, Arya was seething with impatience. She had tried several times to get Bran to talk while Sansa busied herself, but Bran had refused.

“You both need to know these things,” he said.

Arya had had time to study her brother. He did not look at all like the boy she remembered. He had the look of a lanky boy, and Arya was sure, that he would even tower over Sansa if he would be able to stand. His eyes looked like they had seen too much, and his cheeks were hollow, as if he had not eaten enough in many months. He and the girl he had introduced as Meera Reed were savouring the broth Sansa had ordered from the kitchen.

Finally, Sansa settled down and sat beside their brother. Her cheeks were flushed, and she hadn’t even changed her robe. Arya still saw the tiny red dot on her neckline, where a drop of her blood from her throat had spilled. Sansa had found the time to dress the wound under a bandage though.

When Bran finally began to talk, Arya listened attentively. She was outraged when Bran told them how Theon had sacked Winterfell, and almost snapped at Sansa when she argued that Theon had paid dearly for his sins.

“You haven’t seen him, Arya,” Sansa told her sister. “Ramsay broke him like he almost broke me, and he saved my life.”

Arya scowled, but was astonished, when Bran just nodded.

“How can you forgive him? And you haven’t seen him either”, she demanded.

Brand looked at her with eyes that were far too old. “I have seen him. I am the Three-eyed raven.”

Somehow that phrase let Arya feel a shiver down the spine of her back, and she tried to push back the eerie feeling. She punched her brother lightly on the arm. “You said you were north of the Wall, Theon was not there. Stop talking nonsense.”

Meera laughed with a short bark. “It’s good you’re here now, Bran. Your sisters won’t fall for the ominous act.”

Later Arya understood what Bran had meant by the three-eyed raven. Bran was a seer and he had learned to look into the past and the future. He told her how they had been chased by wights, and how first Meera’s brother had died and how the Night King had marked Bran and how wights had swarmed their cave. Arya’s mind was reeling around the fact, that the beings that threatened them were indeed real and that Bran had almost been killed by them. Arya felt tears sting at her eyes, when Bran told them how Summer and Hodor had died. Sansa was weeping openly. Bran’s strange voice that sounded so much like the voice of a man and not at all like the high, eager voice of the boy she remembered had cracked when he spoke of Hodor and Arya thought that he had left something out. They were silent for a while after that.

Sansa rubbed her tears away and laid a hand on Bran’s arm.

“Bran, are you still marked by the Night King? Are we safe here at Winterfell?”, she asked.

Arya shuddered.

“I can only get rid of this mark here at the weirwood in Winterfell.” Bran said. “But I couldn’t come home until you had disposed of Littlefinger. He would have let me be murdered.” He sighed.

“The wall is already weakened. In the end, the mark doesn’t really effect an artefact of magic as big as the wall.” He shrugged.

“It might accelerate the fall of the Wall.”

“I don’t understand.” Sansa whispered. She sounded as frightened as Arya felt.

“The wall will fall before long, only days, if my estimation is correct. And the White Walkers will come and try to destroy Winterfell. Here in Winterfell is magic as old as them.”, Bran explained.

Silence fell when they realised that the danger they had talked about for months was near.

Bran took Sansa’s hand and pressed it. “Not all hope is lost. We are at a disadvantage, but you have prepared and that is good. Tell me, what you have planned. We have to fight on many levels.”

Arya told him how the men were training, how they practiced with burning arrows and torches, how Sansa was preparing for the cold that would come with the White Walkers, how all the women were working their needles hard to make clothing.

“Have the dragonglass shippings arrived yet?” Bran asked.

“Lord Manderly got a raven from White Harbour.” Sansa answered. Suddenly, her eyes widened. She clapped her hand to her forehead. “That must be it. Littlefinger must have promised him some extra bargain on the dragonglass!”

Arya looked at her sister in surprise. “What do you mean? You talk in riddles!”

“Lord Manderly was Littlefinger’s spokesman in the council today. Baelish must have made a deal with him to plead his case.”

Arya leapt up, her fingers twitching to the dagger at her side. _I’ll teach this old fat man._

“Easy, Arya” Bran said. “I’m sure Sansa can handle him. There are more important things we need to discuss.”

Arya sat down, frowning.

“What have you heard of Jon? Where is he, what is his plan?”, Bran asked.

“You tell us, Bran, you are the three-eyed raven after all”, Arya grumbled. Bran only grimaced at that, but Meera laughed.

“I can only see glimpses below the neck. There are not enough weirwoods in the South. I only felt him briefly some weeks ago.” Bran admitted.

Bran turned to Sansa. “Have you received any letters?”

Sansa fingered the hem of her sleeves, a habit she had taken on lately. “Jon travelled to negotiations with Daenerys Targaryen and Jaime Lannister. He wants to persuade them of the danger that awaits us all. He thinks dragons would be a great asset in the war against the Night King.”

“Dragons”, Bran mused. He did not look happy, although he did seem to know about their existence. He was entirely unfazed. “Anything else?”

Sansa flushed slightly. “Jon is very careful with his wordings in case the ravens are intercepted. I think he hinted, that Davos – that is his hand, he used to be Stannis’ man – is trying to smuggle wildfire out of King’s Landing. I have only an idea where the meeting might take place. Jon feared betrayal.”

“I had hoped, that Jon would be on his way back already.”

“We all want him back.” Arya said. Sansa nodded.

“I last felt Jon, when he almost died north of the wall. I feared we would lose him, but he warged into Ghost. Quite a feat over a distance like that. Fortunately, some young man found him and rescued him. Didn’t you tell Jon to return, when you were talking to Ghost the weirwood tree?” Bran asked Sansa.

Sansa’s mouth fell open. “What? I didn’t talk to Jon at the weirwood tree!” She seemed flustered and uncomfortable, as if she was uncomfortable with the idea. “I was just telling Ghost that I wished Jon was here in Winterfell! What do you mean? Warging? Are you telling me Jon can hear what Ghost hears?”

Arya wondered why Sansa’s voice sounded so shrill. She was reminded of the very rare times her sister had been caught doing something forbidden.

“I don’t know really,” Bran shrugged. “When Summer was still with me and I warged into him, I always felt like a wolf and it was hard to concentrate on understanding humans.” Arya caught herself nodding. _Nymeria._ The could almost feel snow falling on her snout. She brushed the thought away and concentrated on her siblings.

Sansa breathed a small sigh that sounded like relief, but Arya thought that she looked very disconcerted.

“We must write to Jon immediately,” Bran told them. “If he is still with Daenerys Targaryen he is in great danger.”

“Why?” Arya and Sansa asked alarmed in unison.

“Because…. “ Bran inhaled deeply. “I don’t really know how to say this…. Jon is not our brother, he is the son of Rhaegar Targaryen of our aunt Lyanna and he has a very strong claim to the Iron Throne.”

Arya felt her own mouth open now. _Jon? Lyanna’s son?_ For a long time the thoughts were drifting in her head as if they were tiny snowflakes at the beginning of a heavy snowfall. _Rhaegar’s son? Why? Why would father never tell this? How?_

Arya came to her senses when she heard Sansa crying, this time loud and in earnest.

Bran was looking at her with dismay on his face, awkwardly patting her arms.

“Jon’s not our brother.” That was all Arya could make out at first. Sansa seemed to repeat that between sobs. “We might never see him again, if he doesn’t return in time.”

Arya went over to her sister. It felt strange to put her arm around her, when she was so much taller, but Arya did it and made little hushing sounds while she stroked her arm. Bran continued to pat her. His face was puzzled. Ghost, who had been silently dozing on the floor all the time, came over and pressed his body against her legs, while Meera awkwardly stood up and looked out of the window. All their effort didn’t help. It seemed like Sansa was unable to get a grip on her emotions.

“Shh,… I’m sure he’ll still love us as his family. Nothing changes that.” _Why is Sansa so upset? She was so tough today, no wonder she loses it now. Littlefinger could have killed her. It must have been quite a while since she allowed herself to cry._ Arya knew all about fighting tears for days.

Finally, Sansa stopped crying and hiccupped. She pressed Bran’s hand and hugged Arya and petted Ghost.

“Thank you, I’m better now.”

“That was a whole river you wept,” Arya smiled encouragingly. “You must know, that father probably wanted to save Jon from deadly danger.”

Sansa nodded and dabbed her swollen eyes. “It’s just…” She hesitated. “It’s just, that I thought that all these years, father only ever loved mother and yet he wouldn’t tell her this secret, and all the time she thought he had had another love once. I know they loved each other and they were happy, but somehow this makes me very sad.”

She stood determinedly. “We have to write Jon immediately. We have to warn him that the wall will come down, that Winterfell is in danger. And we must be careful to pry him away from Daenerys before she finds out, that he is Aunt Lyanna’s son.”

“You write to Jon,” Bran said. “I’m sure you’ll find the right words.”

He turned to Arya “You’d best try to reach your wolf and that pack of hers. We’ll have need of wolves.”

Arya felt dumbfounded. _What else does he know? I will certainly need time to get used to have a seer as a brother._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, RLJ reveal. I reached it, finally. I hope to be able to update soon. Summer is here and finally I might have more time to write fic!


	29. Meddlings of a Hand

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tyrion tries to do right by his queen with the information he has gained.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was struggling with this chapter, after I decided that I needed an in-between chapter to make everything clearer. I'm not sure I'm good at writing Tyrion. I'm rather fond of ShowTyrion but I don't like his book version which has taken a rather dark turn. So this Tyrion is somewhere in between, still someone who is after his own advantage. And quite confident in his own ability to understand the workings of the thoughts of his enemies and allies.

Tyrion Lannister was sitting in the dark and sipped at his wine, well earned after a tiring day.

If he was honest to himself, he needed to wash down his fears. Euron and his horn really had frightened him, and whatever good luck it had been that the wildfire had turned out to be false and that two dragons somehow had not succumbed to the lure of the horn, he knew that they had had a narrow escape.

 _Leave it to Jaime to do some heroic act._ Tyrion cursed his brother, although he knew that he was unfair. _Curse Cersei and her meddling._ It was no surprise that his sister wanted him dead, but Tyrion wondered on what terms she and Jaime had parted, that she would risk killing Jaime along with everybody else. _I might as well admit so myself, that it was a clever move. Taking out Daenerys, Jon Snow and me in one blow._

He wondered briefly if she had done the same, if she would have known about the threat in the North. Somehow Tyrion did not doubt, that Cersei would try to take advantage of anything that could help her.

He sipped again at his wine. His Queen and King Jon Snow had left to discuss their alliance. Tyrion had seen the determined look on Jon’s face and he wondered if it was a good sign. He had no doubt, that Daenerys would take him to bed, but he doubted that the King in the North would be as easy to handle as Daario had been. _A marriage alliance with the Starks might be a good idea._ Tyrion had thought about that several times, but he had been reluctant to suggest a marriage too early. _After all Daenerys can only marry once. We have to choose carefully what match would be the best. Jon Snow is King in the North, but he wants the Independence of the North._

He sighed. If Daenerys could get children, they could arrange something. The Iron Throne for the first child, Winterfell for the second. He wondered, if he should talk with Davos about it.

 _Jaime… Where is he now?_ If he had heard it right, his brother had been alive, when the dragon fell, even if injured. _A Lannister marriage might also be a good idea. But Daenerys would never marry her father’s murderer._ Tyrion had been reluctant to point out that the heir to Casterly Rock was also on option for his queen. They should find another Hand then though.

Tyrion fervently hoped that not many people had seen that Jaime had had a hand in killing the dragon. If he knew his queen at all, she would want her dragon revenged, no matter the circumstance. He dared not look for his brother, in case Varys had him watched. He could hope that it was a good sign, that that woman Brienne had vanished as well. If they had any sense they wouldn’t show their faces any time soon.

_And maybe it all doesn’t matter because grumpkins and snarks are out there to get us after all and the dragons might be our only hope._

Tyrion stood up. He would not solve his problem with drink. He needed to think. He left his room, although it was already late. The Unsullied who stood guard at his door made as if to accompany him, but he waved them away. His sister had tried to kill him with dragons and wildfire today. Nothing could be worse than that. He needed to be alone. Maybe he could find out, where Jaime was.

He still hadn’t decided what to do about the letters to the King in the North he had read. The opportunity had been too good to let it pass. _Sansa has Edmure’s son and the Riverlands, and an alliance to the Arryns is in the making._ Tyrion had not thought about it much, apart from pondering how the obvious rift between Sansa and Arya might be exploited, but he had dismissed the idea that the Starks were building up a very strong alliance that would be difficult to beat even with dragons. He would have thought that King Jon Snow was not a schemer, and Arya certainly was adamantly against any political marriage. _But Jon Snow had Olyvar Frey at his side._ That had really shaken Tyrion. That might mean that Sansa’s letter might have a secret meaning. It might mean that Jon Snow and his half-sister were far better at politics than Starks usually were. It might mean that he had been played by Jon Snow when he had agreed to the annulment of his and Sansa’s marriage.

_If the Starks hold the North, and the Riverlands and the Vale, Jon Snow would bring almost as much to a marriage alliance as Daenerys, dragons or not. We hold nothing in Westeros, only the Reach and maybe Dorne, and if we’re lucky Theon and Yara can bring the Iron Islands again into our fold._

The night air still smelled of smoke and Tyrion put a scarf across his nose to breathe easier. He could be a shadow in the alleys of Saltpans. _A small shadow._ There were torches once in a while but not too many. The fires finally had been extinguished.

He had only gone a few streets, when he made out a lean figure of a man in Stark colours, followed by a bulky man in black. Tyrion ducked in a doorway and when the men passed him. When he recognized Olyvar Frey he trailed after them, wondering what the Frey was about in the small hours of the morning. He hadn’t seen him since the impressive display of the wight.

Olyvar took care to take the darker streets and looked around several times, and that piqued Tyrion’s curiosity. _What is he up too? Another Frey betrayal? Some scheming? Maybe this is an opportunity to ensure that Jon Snow will be grateful to us._

Olyvar and the other man made for a house on the docks. When they stood in the light of the torches that were affixed at the house, Tyrion could see, that the second man was dressed all in black. It hadn’t been just the night, he was a brother of the Night’s watch. Olyvar knocked at the door in a complicated rhythm, and the door opened after a while and Davos Seaworth opened. Tyrion tried to shrink deeper into the shadows.

“What is it?” Davos asked, frowning. “You’re supposed to be on your way.”

“I haven’t yet found Brienne, but I came across this black brother who wanted to talk to the King.” Olyvar said.

Davos stepped out of the door and the black brother stepped nearer.

“Samwell Tarly”, Davos exclaimed. “For a moment I thought we would have even more bad news from the North. What errant brings you here from the South?”

“I have urgent news for the King in the North,” the Tarly boy answered. “I was on my way to Winterfell, but I heard the King is here.” He gestured towards Olyvar.

Davos gestured him inside. “Come in.”

When the door closed, Tyrion wished he could turn invisible and listen in to their conversation. _Samwell Tarly. Does Snow also have ties to the reach? What does this mean?_ If Tyrion remembered correctly, Samwell was the oldest son of Randyll Tarly who was general to the Tyrells at the moment. Did he have a plan on his own? Had he been blind? Was the Snow boy more cunning than he thought? _The North, the Riverlands, the Vale, the Reach as well? And Theon may have renewed his bonds to the Starks as well._

Deep in thought, Tyrion made his way back. Sleep fled him and with early dawn he made his way to the queen’s quarters. The two Unsullied who guarded her door were reluctant to let him in, and after Tyrion had looked in, he knew why. Just as he had suspected, Daenerys had taken Jon Snow to her bed. He slept at her side, tangled in the sheets. _He must be a restless sleeper._ The queen was fortunately stirring and opened her eyes, and Tyrion waved to her to come out.

She had only put on a light dress, when they sat across each other. Daenerys insisted on Greywom joining them. Tyrion told her everything, that the Starks held Hoster, the heir to the Riverlands, that the Freys were extinguished apart from Olyvar Frey who apparently was on Jon’s side, that the Starks were about to enter a marriage alliance with the Vale. He admitted that he himself had agreed to annul his own marriage to Sansa. He held back the information that Jon Snow was also in understanding with the Tarlys for now.

Daenerys frown deepened with every detail Tyrion told her.

“What do you make of this?” Tyrion asked her.

“I’m not sure.” The Queen was thoughtful.

“It makes sense, that the Starks would look for other allies against the threat that comes from the North,” she finally admitted. “But still I do not like it. King Snow suggested, that he would take the title of a Warden against the White Walkers, if I come North with him. But he insisted that his sister Sansa should inherit Winterfell, and that I would have no say in Winterfell’s inheritance. And he told me, that we should talk about Northern independence after the war. He reminded me, that I gave my promise to help him, if he brought the proof.”

There were deep lines on her forehead.

“I don’t like this. I haven’t told him, that I might be barren, but he might be after more than we know. And I lost a dragon. I will take revenge on Cersei for that, and on whoever killed my dragon…. But I can’t take back my word…. What kind of queen would I be?” She looked at Tyrion almost pleadingly.

Tyrion winced inwardly. He did not want to dwell on who had killed the dragon.

“The King’s woman, that Brienne. She was the one who killed the dragon.” Greyworm said.

Daenerys’ head came up suddenly. “Are you sure?”

“Greyworm saw this. The dragon was about to lash out. He was under the thrall of that horn. And that woman threw her sword.”

“It seems to me, that a quick retribution against Cersei might be possible,” Tyrion quickly intervened. If he was lucky, Daenerys would not dig deeper into how the dragon had died. _And this will teach my sweet sister to go against me._ “You would just have to postpone your journey North. We are stuck here anyway, until ships come.”

“Brienne did this!” Daenerys was furious. “Suddenly it does seem to me, that we should consider that Jon Snow would be capable of betraying me.” She looked at Tyrion, silently asking about his opinion.

“I wouldn’t call it betrayal. He is just after as many alliances as possible. It makes sense in his situation, but it weakens your position. We still haven’t defeated the Lannister forces, and if he has the Vale and the Riverlands, more than half of Westeros is his. Have you made any promises? Like a wedding promise?” Tyrion wanted to know.

The Queen shook her head. “We have hinted at future understandings, but he was content with my agreement to go North.”

“We have to learn more about this. Maybe Euron wasn’t sent by Cersei? Do you think this Wight might have been a trick?” she asked Tyrion.

Tyrion shook his head. “It looked to real, and everyone but Jon Snow and that Olyvar guy were surprised. I doubt that Ser Davos could fake fear that easily. But that the wight was real does not necessarily mean that Jon Snow would not try to strengthen his position. It makes it even more plausible.”

And then he told her about the fact that Samwell Tarly had come with “urgent” news for the King in the North.

Daenerys stood up, walking back and forth, agitated. “I will get to the bottom of this.”

“I will gladly talk with Jon Snow. He wants this alliance.”

Daenerys waved impatiently. “I will handle this,” she said. She stood up. “I’ll talk to him, once he wakes up.

“Please, your grace,” Tyrion protested. “I am your hand. Let me negotiate on your behalf.”

Daenerys refused him. “No, I want to handle this myself. He has tricked you before into agreeing to the annulment. If you hadn’t agreed, he would not be able to use his sister to make an alliance.”

Tyrion tried twice to make her relent, but Daenerys was adamant. She told Greyworm to fetch her handmaidens to clothe her and Tyrion only left after she pointedly told him that he should leave while she dressed formally.


	30. The Importance of Letters

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon wakes up and sees a very enraged Daenerys by his bedside.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, some of the plot point from early on are coming together here. I hope you guys like it.... Jon will be in a real tight corner for this and the next chapter.

Jon only grabbed occasional bouts of sleep during the night, and when he slept his dreams were disturbed by strange feelings. He felt the loss of a brother that had just died and anger at the human who had ordered him to fly high. He knew he had escaped the dreadful sound of the horn, but he had also wanted to eliminate the man who had dared to try to conquer him. When he felt his brother die, he had wanted to revenge his brother, although he had no clear idea who had killed him. Was it the man who had blown the horn? Was it one of the other ant-like wraiths he had seen from far above? He didn’t know.

When Jon had been awake in between his dreams he had felt cold sweat on his brow. Awake he knew that he had somehow shared the thoughts of the green dragon, Rhaegal. It had felt strange, exhausting, alien, not like the bond he shared with Ghost. The dragon was flame and hunger, his thoughts about the humans around him laced with contempt. Jon felt much more comfortable in Ghost. He knew that controlling the dragon would never be easy, if he even wanted to take that path.

When he lay awake he wondered what the woman sleeping beside him would make of his connection to the dragon. He had never told anybody about Ghost. Should he tell her? She hadn’t wondered why Rhaegal had flown as high as Drogon. Was she connected to the black dragon like he was to the green? Jon didn’t know what to make of it. His thoughts wandered to Ghost, to Winterfell and to Sansa. It had been pleasant enough to have Daenerys in his arms. She had a natural joy in sex that was endearing, but he knew that he would never love her. His body had reacted readily, but his thoughts had been detached, and his soul had felt no connection. Daenerys had gone to sleep almost immediately while Jon had twisted and turned. His thoughts, when not circling around the dragon, were drawn to Sansa and the fevered words she had spoken to Ghost when he had dreamed of the weirwood north of the Wall. _There is nothing we can do about it. I love her, but I cannot have her. She’ll marry Sweetrobin or Littlefinger to forge an alliance that helps the North._ He fervently hoped that Lord Royce had it wrong. The thought of Littlefinger as Sansa’s husband made Jon’s stomach burn in hatred. He flexed his fingers, imagining driving Longclaw through Littlefinger’s throat. Sweetrobin was better. As far as Jon knew he was not yet a man and it should be possible to postpone a wedding. _To what purpose though? You cannot have her._ Jon sighed and looked at the woman beside him. Daenerys’ face looked peaceful in sleep. _I might as well try to get along with my new ally. We’ll be stuck here at Saltpans until a ship comes anyway._

When his restless thoughts finally came to a halt and blessed dreamless sleep took him, it must have been already in the early hours of the day, because when he woke up, the sun was high up in the sky. His tongue felt dry and strange in his mouth. He suspected that the air was still affected by the fire that had burned yesterday. He was laying alone in the bed, his face to the windows. When he concentrated he could feel air swirling around him and sunshine on wings and a distant feeling of hunger that would soon become stronger. He shook himself, sat up and turned.

Daenerys was sitting on a chair beside his bed, her face a strange and distant mask, her gaze cool and queenly. Jon shrank back. _I thought we had come to an understanding?_ In her hands, there were two scrolls, and Jon’s heart began to pound wildly, when he realised that she held the letters from Winterfell, he had carried in his tunic all the way from Dragonstone, to the wall and back.

“Jon Snow, you are finally awake.” Daenerys said. Her voice sounded pressed, as if she contained her anger. “You claim to be a King”

“My people chose me as their King” Jon answered warily. He did not know what to make of her obvious anger. He felt at a disadvantage being still naked while she was in regal attire.

“Do they know you just do the bidding of your sisters?” she asked.

“Why would you say that?”

“Your sisters told you to seduce me.” Daenerys opened the letters.

“What?” Jon was taken aback.

“ _Please remember your courtesies when you speak with the Queen. I hear she is young and beautiful and she might be sympathetic to a very handsome king known for his skills with a sword_.” Daenerys quoted from Sansa’s letter. “ _If the dragon queen makes trouble, just stick her with the pointy end.’_ ” That was from the short paragraph Arya had written.

For a moment, Jon was at a loss for words.

“This is not what you think” he finally said. “Neither of them was talking about seducing you. Sansa just wanted me to mind my courtesies and Arya…. “ Jon tried to think of something to say and licked his lips. “…. It’s a joke we used to make. Pointy end is just the end of her sword.”

Daenerys scowled. “Are you telling me your sister told you to kill me?”

“Of course not,” Jon leapt to Arya’s defence. “It is a joke. A joke. And if you hadn’t read letters not meant for you, you would not be in the situation to misunderstand.” He was getting angry himself now. _She read Sansa’s letters to me!_

He stood up, not caring for his nudity and snatched the letters from Daenerys’ hands.

“Be careful, King Snow,” Daenerys said. Her gaze pierced him. He could see that she did not believe him.

“You don’t have that many men at your disposal right now. I could have you arrested.”

“I helped save your men.” Jon protested.

Daenerys barked a laugh. “Tell me, how did you save anybody? You killed Euron, but he was already down. And your woman Brienne killed my dragon! Greyworm told me about it. You held that back yesterday!”

For a brief moment, Jon was tempted to tell her about his connection to Rhaegal, that had at least in part saved the situation, but he bit his tongue. This was not the right time to confide to the enraged queen.

He took a deep breath and willed his own anger away. There was no use in a shouting match. With as much dignity as he could muster he threw over his tunic and stepped in his trousers. Then he turned to the queen and tried to talk calm and collected.

“Brienne killed the dragon who was under the thrall of the horn. I cleared the docks, so that the dragons in their grief would not hurt more people.”

“And then you didn’t tell me who killed the dragon. And in the night, you acted at your sisters’ advice. Where is Brienne now? I might be inclined to overlook your impudence, if you tell me where she is. And the kingslayer. He might have helped her.” Daenerys made no effort to keep her voice low.

Jon willed himself to calm. “Your Grace, I ordered Brienne to leave and make for Winterfell. I don’t know where she is.” _Nor would I tell you, if I knew it, not in your current state of mind._

“As for the night,” he gave a short bow. “I plead with you to believe me, that there was no ill intent on my side. We need you and your dragons to fight against the White Walkers. You saw for yourself how dangerous the situation is. You saw the wight we brought.”

“You need me? Or you need my dragons?”, Daenerys’ voice was not as loud as before, but that did not reassure Jon. Her eyes glittered.

“Your grace, we all need your dragons. When I was north of the Wall, Thoros of Myr told me that the wall is growing weaker. The seven kingdoms will face an invasion of the White Walkers and the Undead”, he tried to explain. “You told me that you would fight with us.”

“I told you that I would fight with you, before one of my dragons was killed, before the truce with the Lannisters was shattered, before you lied to me about the person who killed my child.” She took a breath.

“If I go North with you, Cersei will retake the entire South.” She added.

“If you don’t go North, it won’t matter who holds the South,” Jon argued. “The White Walkers will conquer the North and then they will come for you. Do you think the Neck will stop them?”

“You want me to turn my back on the South and fight with you? And afterwards? Your sister holds the Vale and the Riverlands. You the North, Cersei will hold the South. What will be left for me?” Daenerys demanded.

“My sister will hold the Vale?” Jon asked. _How would she know?_

“My hand has his methods to get information.” Daenerys said haughtily.

_Which letter? Did Tyrion see Lord Royce’s letter or Arya’s ramblings? Probably not Arya’s letter or she wouldn’t suspect Arya to have advised me to seduce her._

“Your grace,” Jon willed her to listen. “I secured you the proof you needed. It is not my fault that Cersei got wind of our parley. It is not my fault that Euron tried to steal your dragons. It’s not my fault one of your dragons had to be killed to save people.”

“We should just have destroyed the horn.” Daenerys interrupted him. “Viserion could have shook of the bonds then.”

Jon looked at her, his own anger was slowly getting hold of him. _Did she not see the danger?_

“Your grace, I admit that this would have been better, but Euron’s pirates were throwing what we thought was wildfire. We are all lucky to have escaped alive.”

Her eyes glittered again, and Jon realised that she was fighting tears, if they were tears of anger, grief or hurt, he could not have said.

“Please, your grace. You are angry and distressed. We should not continue our talk, before we are both calmer. I beg you to reconsider everything I’ve done. I gave you my word, we had an understanding.”

Daenerys opened her mouth, and Jon could see that she was about to lash out again, but they were interrupted by a knock on the door. Davos entered immediately after knocking.

Jon was glad that he had dressed. He could see two Unsullied at the door, but they were outnumbered by a dozen men who wore the uniforms of the City Watch of King’s Landing.

“Your grace.” Davos bowed. “I finally managed to get rooms fit for a king. I am sure, after you and Queen Daenerys have discussed politics the whole morning, you need rest.”

Davos’ eyes were pleading with him. He even went as far as extending a hand. Daenerys looked from him to the two Unsullied and Jon could see her calculating if she should give the order to seize them. The Unsullied were good fighters, but the city watch outnumbered them. She let her hands fall to her side.

Jon nodded. He put the letters he still held in his tunic and snatched at Longclaw.

He bowed deeply to Daenerys. “Your grace, I hope we can continue this talk another time.” Whatever good luck had brought Davos to him, he would not risk being detained by an enraged queen.

Daenerys gave him a nod that was halfway between gracious and haughty.

“We will continue our talk. Circumstances have changed, and I think we must renegotiate. If you want my army and my dragons you will pay the price I name. I shall ponder what that might be.”

That was not what Jon had hoped when he had entered her room yesterday. _How did it all go wrong? Why did she have to read my letters? Why did that damned Lannister look at the letters I was sent?_

They left the house in the midst of reassuring regular beating strides of the soldiers Davos had brought.

“Do you trust them?” Jon whispered, gesturing at the guards.

“These are Gendry’s men. They work against Queen Cersei.”

“Why did you come looking for me?” he asked his Hand.

“I wanted to ensure your safety.” Davos answered.

“You did well, but how did you know that things went awry? Not, that I complain.”

Davos looked at him with concern in his eyes.

“Did Queen Daenerys find out? Was that, why she was shouting? I’m sure you could have preferred to find out in another way.” He laid a hand on his arm.

Jon was confused. “Find out what? Daenerys was angry that Brienne killed her dragon”. He shook his head still wondering how Daenerys had not realised how dangerous the situation with the dragons had been. “and….” He could feel the blood creeping in his cheeks. “She read my sisters’ letters. She misunderstood them. She thought, Sansa had ordered me to seduce her. Tyrion must have told her about the planned alliance with the Vale.”

Davos nodded. “Unfortunately, there are ways to open a letter and leave the seal undamaged. It is unfortunate, that Lord Tyrion found out about the planned alliance with the Vale.”

They were rounding a corner and approached a house at the docks, that Davos must have had chosen because it was close to the water. They could defend it with only a few men.

“But I was talking about something else. It does not bode well, that you fell out with the queen. You are in great danger, but we might keep things quiet and secret for now.” Davos said. Jon was at a loss what he meant.

When they entered the house, Davos ordered the men to secure the house from all corners. His face was worried. Jon was worried as well. _What will Daenerys demand? Our whole trip North of the wall was for nothing. We don’t get the Lannister army, I’m stuck here, with only two dozen men, most of them not my own, and Daenerys will make demands for an alliance, just because she thinks I’m backed in a corner and her war does no go as she wants._

Davos led Jon up the stairs. “There is someone you have to see.”

When Jon entered the small room on top of the stairs, he felt a rush of real joy.

“Sam”, he cried out and ran to hug his friend.

Sam hugged him back, but soon stepped back.

“How are you, why are you here? Where is Gilly?” Jon asked.

Sam didn’t answer anything, but looked at him with sad and earnest eyes.

“Jon, you have to leave here as fast as possible. You are in great danger.”

“Wouldn’t be the first time,” Jon joked. “What is it this time?”

“I don’t think you are safe anywhere near Daenerys Targaryen.” Sam answered.

He shoved his hair out of his face. Jon realised that he looked travel-worn and that he had lost weight.

“I came as fast as I could. You are in danger, because you are a threat to her claim.” Sam combed his hair nervously with his fingers.  “I don’t really know, how to tell you this….”

Sam somehow urged him to take a seat. Jon was puzzled. He had never seen his friend that fussing about. He obliged him and sat down. Sam sat beside him and looked at the floor.

He made several attempts to start until he finally burst out: “I was assigned to bring order to a letter collection from the mad king’s reign. Tedious work, nobody had ever looked at it, over 1000 letters.”

“And?”

“There was a letter by Arthur Dayne, the kingsguard, to his sister Ashara. It was written after Rhaegar had fallen at the Trident and the Mad King had been murdered. He asked his sister if she would be willing to raise a child to save it from Robert’s wrath. He wanted her to claim it was her son, hers and Brandon Starks, when it was Rhaegar’s son.”

Jon frowned. “Aegon, Rhaegar’s son, was killed by the mountain in the sack of King’s Landing, everybody knows that.”

Sam shook his head “Not that son. Rhaegar’s and Lyanna’s son.”

Jon suddenly felt dizzy.

“What do you want to say?” But he didn’t really need to be told. Somehow, he knew.

“Lyanna had a son. Arthur Dayne wanted to save the son of his prince. A son, he considered legitimate, because Rhaegar had taken Lyanna as a second wife, like the Targaryens of old. The High Septon himself sanctified the marriage. Arthur knew, Lyanna was dying and that Ned Stark was on his way to the tower of joy. That letter had been meant to go with the child once Ned Stark had been dealt with.”

Jon stared at Sam and willed him to stop, but his mind was blank, and words would not come.

“You know what happened. Ned Stark came to the Tower of Joy. Arthur Dayne and the kingsguards were killed. Ned found Lyanna dying or dead.  He just never mentioned that she had died in child bed.”

Jon could hear his own ragged breath loudly in his ear. He shook his head.

“Jon,” Sam urged him to look at him. “Ned Stark was your uncle. You’re not his bastard. You’re Lyanna’s son.”

Jon shook his head again.

Sam sighed. “You know, if anybody had known that Lyanna was pregnant, I doubt I’d be the only one to come to the conclusion that Ned Stark hid you in plain sight.”

Jon could feel sweat breaking out on his forehead. _The dragon, Rhaegal…. I felt him…. Daenerys…. Rhaegar’s sister…. My aunt…. Sansa… My cousin, not my sister. I’m a Targaryen. I’m not a Stark,_ His mind reeled, his thoughts spun.

Suddenly, the wheel in his mind stopped, and he felt like his thoughts burst. He heard himself laugh, a cackling laugh, that sounded so strange, or was he sobbing? He felt his cheeks that were wet, and suddenly and violently he felt sick and vomited noisily on the floor.


End file.
